


December Never Felt So Wrong

by MaesterChill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 00's Music Sung Badly, 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2018, A niffler, A tiny bell, Advent Fic, Amnesia, Angst, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Cuddles, Falling In Love, First Time Sex, Fluff, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Knitting, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Magical Theory, Memory Loss, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Rimming, Sex, Sharing a Bed, curse magic, drarry dads, time skip, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-02 15:33:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 49,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16789741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/pseuds/MaesterChill
Summary: 'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side.All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.





	1. Fadó

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 25 days of Drarry challenge 2018, and based on 25 prompt pictures. Thank you to the lovely [sassy_cissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/) for modding this challenge.
> 
> The chapter titles are all foreign words that don't have a direct equivalent in English. You'll find a disproportionate number of Irish language ones due to me being Irish :o)
> 
> The title is a lyric from _Winter Song_ by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson.
> 
> As ever, a huge thank you to the amazing [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/) for being a spectacular friend and super helpful beta.

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/515142897268686875/25_days_18_zpsqs5jwimi.jpg)

**Fadó**. Irish. adv. _Long ago. This word is used in a variety of phrases that can be used to begin a folktale and corresponds to the English ‘Once upon a time’._

“Thanks, Greg,” Draco scowled, closing the door to the Room of Hidden Things, “I’m all done for this evening. Another bloody waste of time.”

The tiny second year girl he was talking to smiled toothily and replied in an altogether too deep voice, “Yeah righto, Draco,” as she smoothed out her robes. “What was it you said you was up to in there, again?”

“I didn’t. And it’s none of your sodding business,” Draco snapped. “Come on, we better get back to the dorms before curfew.”

He walked a few paces alongside the polyjuiced Gregory Goyle, before huffing exaggeratedly.

“Well, I suppose I _can_ tell you that it’s part of the extremely important task the Dark Lord has assigned me. Which is all going to plan, of course.”

Greg nodded dutifully, and then bid Draco goodbye as he made his way to the bathrooms to wait for the effects of the Polyjuice to wear off.

Draco was fed up. The past three months had not gone to plan _at all_.

First the fucking vanishing cabinet he needed turned out to be broken. And no matter what he’d tried it was still returning pulverised apples.

Then there was that awful business with Katie Bell in Hogsmeade. And how in Merlin’s name anyone linked that to him he had no idea, but sure enough McGonagall, the nosy wench, came sniffing round him asking questions. All fucking Potter’s doing no doubt.

And, yes, Potter was another matter. Stupid fucking Potter. A constant thorn in his side, trailing him and earwigging at every opportunity, ugh. He always knew when Potter was following him. The speccy git kept well hidden somehow but surely no one with a basic olfactory function could mistake the scent of him which lingered in every room and corridor he’d been in, the smell of treacle and leaves and something musky. It made Draco’s whole body tingle whenever he caught a whiff of it. Well, at least it put him on alert that the prick was nearby.

Then there was Snape, trying to meddle in his affairs as usual. He’d successfully ignored the four summons he’d had so far to Snape’s office, but it was getting harder and harder to avoid him. He knew Snape wanted to interfere in the Dark Lord’s plans for him, get a piece of the glory. Snape no doubt thought Draco was incapable of it.

But Snape didn’t know anything, Draco thought.

 _It’s_ my _job, mine, a vital part of the war effort, Aunt Bella said. I’ve got a plan, a bloody good one this time. I’ll make the Dark Lord proud. And… and Mother and Father._

His stomach twisted and his head was pounding. If only he could get the apple to come back through the blasted cabinet without disintegrating. There had to be a way.

Draco reached the dungeons and muttered _Venomous Tentacula_ to gain entry. He stepped into the Slytherin common room to see Pansy, Vincent and Blaise sitting in armchairs by the fire.

“Fancy a game of Exploding Snap, Draco?” Pansy called.

“No, I'm just going straight to bed, Pans. I've got a terrible headache.”

“Take a potion darling, something with butterbur and feverfew in it. You've been looking frightful these last few days. More dour, drab and miserable than the Grey Lady.”

“Thanks awfully, Pans, you always know how to make a chap feel good.”

They both rolled their eyes at the same time.

“Night, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Once in his room, he quickly got ready for bed, taking a potion for his headache. Pansy had been right about that at least. He flopped onto his bed with a relieved groan and drew the curtains with a spell.

He knew he wouldn't get much sleep. He never did these days. He just needed to be alone.

Of late, he found little joy in spending time with his housemates. He had more important things to worry about than gossiping and making fun of Gryffindors.

His school work was suffering, he'd had detention last week for repeatedly failing to turn in homework, but he barely gave a toss. What was the point? NEWT results held no sway with The Dark Lord.

He’d lost interest in Quidditch completely too. Who cared who won the sodding House Cup? None of that mattered anymore. It was all a pathetic children's game.

His thoughts wandered back to Potter as they often did when he was alone. He was so fucking exasperating. Lurking about where he wasn’t welcome, whether that be the corridors at night, or the back of Draco’s mind; Potter was just too bloody annoying _not_ to think about. Despite that, he hadn’t been able to find it in himself recently to bother provoking the git. He used to spend so much time scheming and dreaming up ways to torment him. Not now. Now he wished Potter would just leave him alone.

He wished everyone would just leave him alone.

He had a job to do. He had to plan a murder. His stomach lurched at the thought, and for the first time in his life he wished he was someone else. He'd always been fiercely proud of being a Malfoy, but it now occurred to him that his family allegiances were leading him down a treacherous path, without hope of rescue.

It was several hours before he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Draco sat up suddenly in bed.

_“Whatcha gonna do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?”_

What the bloody buggering fuck was that?

_“I'ma get get get get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.”_

Dear Salazar, make it stop. His headache had returned with a vengeance.

He looked around him and his blood ran cold.

He was a large bed... in a large bedroom… that was most definitely _not_ the Slytherin boys’ dorm.

What in Merlin’s name?

The singing continued—if you could call it singing—and there was something familiar about that voice. Irritatingly familiar.

If he didn’t know for an absolute, undeniable certainty that it was _impossible_ , he would swear it was Harry fucking Potter.


	2. Aduantas

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/515142935746969610/25_days_11_zpstogkopn0.jpg)

**Aduantas**. Irish. n. _That feeling of unease or anxiety caused by being somewhere new, or by being surrounded by people you don’t know. Derived from aduaine, the Irish word for “strangeness” or “unfamiliarity.”_

Draco’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the room he was in. It was decorated in light greys and pale blues, with a large picture window and gauzy white curtains.

_Okay Draco, it’s fine, just stay calm, I’m fine, everything is fine, everything is good! I’m a Malfoy, a Slytherin, unflappable. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this and I am not freaking out, not at all, I’m FINE._

_...I may be mildly panicking…_

He spotted his wand lying on a white nightstand along with a shiny flat metal item and a glass of water. He grabbed the wand and stood up, noticing he was wearing loose grey pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. What had happened to the green pyjamas he had on last night? Someone must have stripped him and changed him after bringing him here! Okay, this was getting fucking creepy.

He could still hear that awful singing so he supposed he ought to investigate. The coward in him protested at the thought but he tiptoed towards the open bedroom door anyway, wand held aloft in a sweaty palm.

Draco found himself on a dark landing and made his way quietly downstairs. The hallway below seemed familiar but he was too disquieted to think about that now. His brain was trying to recall all the defensive spells he’d taken down off the blackboard the day before, when he was hit with a scent of cinnamon and cloves.

Light spilled from an open door at the end of the hall. His pulse hammering in his ears, Draco approached the door, wand at the ready, and peered into a bright kitchen.

He was met with the alarming sight of what was very definitely Potter. Potter, who he’d seen the day before shovelling down sticky toffee pudding in the Great Hall—in between bouts of scowling at Draco with narrowed eyes—was now standing in this strange kitchen, wearing a tight white t-shirt and red patterned pyjama bottoms. Potter, currently facing away from him, shaking his bum and singing:

“ _They say I'm really sexy, the boys they wanna sex me.”_

Draco’s jaw dropped open, and he quickly backed out of the kitchen, pressing himself against the wall. He had to think.

“ _They always standin' next to me, always dancin' next to me.”_

He peered back in. Potter was still bopping away to his own musical cacophony.

“ _Tryna feel my hump hump, lookin' at my lump lump.”_

Potter was stirring something in a large bowl and adding a large quantity of raisins to it.

“ _You can look but you can't touch it. If you touch it, I'ma...”_

Merlin, now Potter was wagging his finger at some imaginary harasser. This was beyond surreal.

“ _...I'ma start some drama, you don't want no drama, no no drama, no no no no drama.”_

He stared, mesmerised, at Potter's swaying rump. He realised the pattern on his pyjamas was a sequence of tiny dancing penguins in colourful hats and scarves. Trust the ridiculous prick to be wearing Christmas PJs already. After a few moments he shook his head and slunk back behind the doorframe again.

He struggled to gather his thoughts. Okay, he was in a strangely familiar house, with Potter. Potter looked different though, at least from the back; broader, more muscular, but it was definitely him. Draco couldn't mistake that voice and that unkempt hair.

How had he got here? A Portkey? But there had been nothing in his bed save for Derek his plushie dragon. Impossible. He could only surmise that he'd been kidnapped. By Potter? By the Order? Had they discovered his plot? The Dark Lord would be incensed. Draco didn't want to think about what he might do, what the retribution would be if he discovered that Draco had allowed himself to be nabbed and held prisoner by Potter.

He scowled and stole another look into the kitchen, then fought an errant snigger as flour puffed up out of a bag into the stupid git’s face.

Draco watched as Potter measured and sifted the flour. Then mixed it in with all the fruit and sugar in the bowl. Still singing that blasted song about ‘humps’ and ‘lumps’ and now _gyrating_ his contemptible arse in a deeply distracting fashion. Next he leaned up on tiptoes and grabbed two bottles of alcohol from a shelf. Salazar, Potter was really throwing himself into whatever he was making. It was quite spellbinding to watch.

 _He's the enemy, get a hold of yourself,_ he chided.

He needed to get back to Hogwarts, he could _not_ afford to fail, there was too much at stake. He took a deep breath and raised his wand. _It's time to act._


	3. Goya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read and commented so far. It's really motivating me to get the last few chapters finished! Cuddles to you all ♡♡♡

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/515142966818373650/d42604ae-d2e5-4af5-a35d-37a2e5c0e9b7_zpssuwfncda.jpg)

**Goya**. Urdu. n _. A transporting suspension of disbelief. An ‘as if’ that feels like reality. A sense of shifting into a dream-like feeling of disbelief._

Draco moved forward into the kitchen, wand out. He knew how quick Potter’s reflexes were; he needed to be primed and ready to counter any spells fired his way.

Potter was still gyrating his hips in time with his stirring, and singing that ridiculous song.

Draco cleared his throat loudly. Potter paused his ditty and turned around, wooden spoon in hand, a raisin stuck to his cheek, and flour on the end of his nose.

“Heyyy, you’re up,” Potter beamed at him and Merlin if the git wasn’t heart-stoppingly attractive. His face was so much older looking, but so mature and earnest and... and Draco simply couldn't think of a thing to say.

Potter squinted at him. “What’s up? Hunting doxies?”

“Doxies?” Draco certainly hadn’t expected that question.

Potter laughed “You’ve got your frowny pest-control face on. Hey, pass me the muslin cloth there, would you? It’s in that drawer by your hand.”

“Muslin cloth?” Draco looked down at the drawer Potter was pointing to with his wooden spoon.

Potter screwed up his face. “You ok, hon’?”

Was he hearing things or did Potter just call him ‘hon’? He was definitely being unnervingly familiar with him.

“ _Hon’_?” Draco enquired.

“Ehh, what game are we playing here, babe?”

_Babe!? What the fucking fuck?_

“ _That_ is a very good question, Potter.”

“Potter, eh? I like _those_ sorts of games.” He lowered his head, looking up through long black eyelashes and pouting. “Have I been a naughty schoolboy?”

 _Holy shit, was Potter flirting with him?_ He had most definitely woken up in an alternate reality.

“Potter, I demand to know what I’m doing here. I should be in school. Salazar, I have a Transfiguration essay to finish for tomorrow and I’m on my last chance with McGonagall after that detention last week. You’ll return me to Hogwarts at once if you know what’s good for you.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Draco? Essays and detentions? Hogwarts? Wait, have you been sniffing the vapours of that Billywig potion again?” He started walking towards Draco.

“Stay where you are! Hands where I can see them.” He pointed his wand at Potter’s chest.

“Okay, now you’re worrying me Draco. Did you have a nightmare? Has something happened?”

_Why does he keep calling me Draco? What was wrong with Malfoy? I could deal with Malfoy._

“Yes, something's happened, you blithering arse-kettle! Something's very obviously happened. I wake up here… in this house… with you… you, looking very different, older and… and you’re acting peculiar… baking, and calling me Draco and acting like we’re chums or roommates or something.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’re _chums_ ,” Potter said, punctuating the word with finger quotes. “I do make a point of being on friendly terms with my own boyfriend,” he added, with a little flush on his cheek.

 _Boyfriend? Of all the ridiculous_ — _I would never_ —

“What…what’s going on? We’re not _friends_ ,” Draco sneered. “ We’ve never been friends, and certainly not boyfriends. You have got to be fucking kidding me. That’s just preposterous—”

“Draco”, Potter was saying, “is this a joke?”

“A joke? I don’t fucking know what this is, but it’s no fucking joke! Do you see me laughing?”

“So, what are you saying? You don’t remember _us_ , that we’re a thing? Have you lost your memory? Maybe you banged your head or something? Come to think of it, you were acting a little odd last night, sort of distant.”

 _I’m a Death Eater, I'm your enemy. I almost killed a girl with a cursed necklace. I’m plotting to kill your beloved Dumbledore. There’s no way you’d ever want to be my boyfriend._ But Draco certainly couldn’t voice those thoughts.

Instead he said weakly, “But we hate each other, we’ve always hated each other. That’s what we _do_. We could never be friends, it simply wouldn’t work.”

“Good one mate, you seem to have forgotten the small fact that we’ve been living together for the past eight months and its working out pretty great so far. Well, apart from your snoring and your music tastes and—”

Draco felt all the air being sucked out of him. _Oh Merlin, oh Salazar, what is fucking happening?_

“What year is it, Potter?” he asked, heart hammering.

Potter looked confused. “Its 2011 of course. We’ve been together as a couple for over a year.”

 _No no no no no._ He must be still dreaming. That was it, it was just another nightmare, a stupid fucking dream. He pinched himself hard, but remained stubbornly in Potter’s kitchen. _Fuck_.

“2011? No, it can’t be, that’s the future. Fifteen fucking years in the future! Then I must have time-travelled. But how?”

“Fifteen years? Draco, that's impossible. You _can't_ have time-travelled fifteen years.”

“Whyever not, Potter? I know it's unlikely but how else do you explain—”

“Look at you. If you'd time-travelled you'd still look like you were...what age?”

“Sixteen.” Draco looked down at the hand clutching his wand. It looked...different, more weathered, the skin sort of...looser. _And_ his black nail polish had disappeared.

“Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit. This can't be happening. So I'm—” he paused, calculating, “thirty-one years old! Fuck!”

“So last you remember you were sixteen?”

“Yes. It was just yesterday. It was 1996, I was at school, and we were definitely _not_ friends. What the fuck is going on?”

“Okay, shit. Yes. That’s a problem.”

“Well I see you’re still stating the bloody obvious fifteen years later, Potter.”

They stared at each other for several seconds.

Potter looked unsure about something.

“Can I give you a hug?” he finally said, slowly reaching his arms up.

“Most certainly not!”

Potter dropped his arms. “No. No, of course not. Merlin, this is weird. Err, how about a cup of tea?”

Draco sighed. “Yes, alright then, I might as well. I take it black with—”

“Black with one sugar, yes I know. We live together remember?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. You’re right, this _is_ weird. You have a raisin and some flour on your face, by the way,” Draco said, the corner of his lip quirking up.

“Oh,” Harry laughed, “I’m just making our Christmas pudding, remember? Oh no, you wouldn't remember. You know what, it’s a bloody good thing you have today off work, hopefully whatever this is will wear off by the end of the day.”

“By Circe, I hope so,” Draco sighed, adding, “And by the way, I do _not_ snore.”

Draco muttered a “thanks” as he accepted the bright yellow mug of tea and sipped it gratefully, the hot liquid easing his frazzled nerves just a little. He needed to think straight and figure out what to do. Which was difficult with Potter bending over to retrieve something from a low drawer. He really did fill those pyjamas out very nicely.

A scratching noise by the back door distracted him from Potter’s arse, and he was even more startled when the cat flap opened and a small black fluffy creature emerged and scuttled across the kitchen tiles towards him.

“What in Salazar’s—” he began and squeaked embarrassingly as it clambered up his leg onto his lap, pointy snout burrowing into his stomach.

“Is that… is that a niffler?” Draco said faintly.

“Ah, Draco, meet Penny, your pet niffler.”

“Penny?” Draco frowned. This morning could not get _any_ more bizarre. “Nice name I suppose,” he added for want of something to say. He gingerly stroked Penny’s black fur, and she wiggled her snout in pleasure, tickling his ribs in the process. He stifled a giggle.

“Yes, it suits her, don’t you think? Scorpius chose it.”

“Who?”

“Scorpius.” Harry’s eyes went wide taking in Draco’s blank face. “Your son? Scorpius? Merlin, you really remember nothing? Draco, he’s five years old.”

Draco just stared at Potter open mouthed. His brain formulated no thoughts other than to register that the morning had indeed just got _way_ more bizarre.


	4. Tiám

Prompt pic: 

**Tiám**. Farsi. n. _The twinkle in your eye when you first meet someone._

After Draco grudgingly accepted that Potter was not holding him captive, and that he had indeed been catapulted fifteen years into the future—Potter had shown him copies of the _Daily Prophet_ confirming the date—and, after he had somewhat got over the shock of finding out he was a dad with a five-year old son, as well as being, he blanched to think of it, _boyfriends_ with Harry Potter, he decided there was nothing for it but to go upstairs and have a soothing hot shower.

Mind still swirling with confusion, Draco entered the bathroom and gasped as he got his first glimpse in the mirror of what he now looked like. He was...a _man…_ a grown-up. He prodded at the crows’ feet around his eyes, and frowned at his thinning hair, however after several minutes of examination decided he looked pretty healthy, at least healthier than he had the day before. His reflection yesterday had been grey and wan with large shadows under his eyes. Today his skin was gleaming and his eyes were bright and he had a pink tinge to his cheeks. He looked pretty dashing if he was honest, and he turned his head this way and that.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and stopped short. _What on earth?_ Criss-crossing his chest were several raised scars, silvery and old looking. He traced his fingers along them in wonder. What had happened? Why had they not been healed? Surely Potter would know; he’d have to ask him later.

After a hot shower with some delicious smelling shampoo, Draco emerged in an apple scented cloud of steam, feeling invigorated, and set about locating some clothes.

Potter had told him which side of the wardrobe was his, which had flustered him momentarily. Sharing a wardrobe with Potter? Ugh. Until he’d started thinking about what else they probably shared, and his mind wandered to the large bed with soft white sheets, and the sorts of things that boyfriends got up to. Unthinkable, well with Potter at least. At that point Draco had been ready to get up and Apparate out of there from of sheer mortification. He couldn't possibly do this. It was too much. But where would he Apparate to? Hogsmeade? No point. He couldn't go back to Hogwarts, his fellow students were all grown up. To the Manor? He hadn’t asked Potter about his parents yet so he had no idea what awaited him there. Safer to stay here and see if this nightmare somehow resolved itself by morning.

And in the midst of this crazy nightmare he had a son. A fucking son. Scorpius. He struggled to fathom it. And then he thought again about the things Potter had told him about the boy. That he looked just like Draco. That he passionately wanted to be Dora the Explorer when he grew up. That he was obsessed with the number five. That he was very particular about his shoes. And Draco had been enchanted.

Harry had explained how Scorpius’ mother Astoria, had passed away not long after childbirth leaving Draco to care for a newborn baby all by himself. He’d been sorry to hear about Astoria, the sister of Daphne in his year; she’d seemed like a nice sort. He found it odd that he had chosen to marry a girl. Not that he had anything against them as a species, he’d just never met one he was romantically interested in before. He wondered how much Scorpius knew about her. He was so in awe of his 26-year old self for being a single parent. How the fuck did he manage? He was already bloody bricking it just to meet the little fellow later after school. Harry had said he didn’t have to go, but despite being highly nervous, Draco couldn't wait to see his son.

After trailing his hands across all the soft expensive garments in the wardrobe, and being impressed with his grown-up self’s tastes, he selected a soft green fine-knit jumper and charcoal trousers. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised when they fit him perfectly, although he surmised it wouldn't be the last thing that would leave him feeling bewildered today.

He made his way downstairs, head still full of questions. _How did I get here? Will I go back? And when? And how?_ He was met in the hallway by an enthusiastic Penny snuffling at his stockinged feet. The little niffler seemed to be really fond of him, and had hardly left his side earlier when Potter had made him breakfast. He’d had to eat his bacon butty with one hand, the other tickling the downy fur on her little belly.

Potter was still busying about in the kitchen, singing something about standing under an umbrella, while several saucepans rattled away on the hob, steam puffing out from under their hopping lids.

Draco felt shy all of a sudden. Having gotten over the initial horror of being in a house with Potter, he now wasn’t sure how to act towards him. His instinct was to insult and snark, but Potter had been really _nice_ to him up to now. Treated him like somebody he liked and respected. It was both disconcerting and thrilling. He didn’t want to examine that feeling too closely nor did he want to ruin what he was still thinking of as a tenuous truce between them.

“There you are,” smiled Potter, and Draco’s breath caught a little at being the recipient of such a warm smile, usually strictly reserved for non-Slytherins, “How are you feeling now? Any memories coming back?”

“Not a one, Potter. Still feeling thoroughly thrown for a loop if I’m honest, but a little better than when I first woke up.”

Penny gave a yelp by his feet and he picked her up.

“What’s the story with this little one? Only, I remember learning about nifflers in Care of Magical Creatures—I did study you know Potter; one _had to_ with that great oaf teaching—and I seem to remember reading that they are _not_ recommended as house pets. Too destructive I believe.”

“You’re spot on, actually. Well, except for the oaf bit. But Penny is special. She was born malformed. Her claws didn’t form properly, and the goblins were going to put her down, no use to them, see, if she can’t burrow? You rescued her from that and brought her home.”

Draco had a lot of questions in his head about that but just murmured, “I did?” and clutched Penny against his chest. She made tiny mewling noises and scraped her blunt paws against his jumper.

“Yeah, she was just a tiny fluff ball then, so adorable.” Potter leant back against the worktop, taut stomach muscles visible through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, not that Draco was looking. “And, sure she’s a tenacious little thing, and does attempt to burrow into things and find treasure, but she can’t cause any real damage, well, nothing a few Reparos can’t fix at any rate.”

“Why did Scorpius call her Penny?”

“Ah, this you won’t get. It’s after a character called Penny Pocket from one of his favourite shows, _Balamory_. She’s a girl who works behind the till in the sweet shop, he’ll tell you all about it, and she’s in a wheelchair. He thinks its the cleverest thing because just like the character, she was born with special feet, and her pouch is often full of pennies.”

“Um. What are pennies?”

“Oh Draco, surely you—” Potter was giving him a pitying look. “Pennies are Muggle coins, a bit like a Knut.”

“I see.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I agree with my son, that is a pretty clever name. He sounds like a smart boy.”

“Well they do say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And you’ll see him yourself soon. You know what, perhaps seeing Scorp will jog your memory. We’ll leave for the school in half an hour, yeah? We can walk there. Or would you prefer to side-along with me?”

“Er, walk please. I could do with the fresh air.”

Truth be told he didn't fancy being _that_ close to Potter. He was still trying to sort out how he felt about this new, older Potter. And trying to put off thinking about what would happen if he couldn’t get back to his normal life, his sixteen year old life. Not that he’d been particularly happy there, but at least he knew what was what, and where he stood. Sort of.

Who was he fooling, he’d been miserable and lost for the past few months.

They closed the front door and walked down the steps. Draco jumped a little when the house completely disappeared behind them as they reached the pavement. Potter explained to him about it belonging to the Blacks, and now him, and that it was still under a Fidelius charm. Draco said he’d thought it had seemed familiar. Potter’s face had lit up at that, delighted that Draco’s memory was returning, but fell again when Draco burst his bubble by explaining that he’d visited the place as a child.

They walked along in silence through the north London neighbourhood Potter lived in, Draco’s feet occasionally swiping aside the odd soggy pile of leaves that gathered at the sides of the path.

He had so many questions about his 2011 self, about everything that had happened between sixth year and now, about what had become of You-Know-Who, about what in Merlin’s name had got them to the point of becoming boyfriends?

But he said nothing, not yet. He wasn’t sure why, he thought maybe he didn’t want to know. That maybe he could just take this little hiatus from his real life, and live for a day in a cosy world where he was one of the good guys, and had a little boy, and a pet niffler, and a boyfriend who sang badly and made Christmas pudding. Even if said boyfriend was the last person in the world that Draco would have considered dating. What had it come to that dating Harry fucking Potter felt like he was getting a breather from his troubles?

They turned a corner, and Draco was hit by the noise of crowds of young children. Utter chaos surrounded a low building painted yellow and red, with windows covered in colourful paintings.

They crossed the street and entered the playground, and straight away a little blond person in a stripy jumper came barrelling towards them.

“Yaay, two daddies today!” the boy shouted, running into them at full speed and grabbing onto a leg each.

The air left Draco’s lungs as his son looked up at him, beaming, grey eyes sparkling. Draco’s own eyes threatened to fill with tears as he looked into the same face that stared out at him from countless Malfoy family albums. The boy looked exactly like he had as a child. He was hit with a proud protective possessive feeling that was alien to him, and felt he was either about to break down and cry or laugh out loud.

“Oh Scorpius,” was all he could manage. He crouched down and gripped the boy’s hand, and momentarily felt a weak tingle of magic spark between them. Draco spotted the boy was dragging a coat with a fur-lined hood across the ground, “Oh baby, put on your overcoat, it’s terribly cold out. You’ll freeze.”

“I’m not a baby, Papa. I’m five since my birfday and I can talk and do my own zip up. Babies can’t talk and do their zips up.”

“No they can’t. Er—” Draco realised he was woefully inexperienced at talking to young children. That’s what came of being an only child whose only surviving cousins had been older than him and either excommunicated or in Azkaban.

“Why don’t you show Papa how well you can do your zip,” Potter said, and Draco looked up at him gratefully, only to realise Potter was smiling and gazing intently at him. Draco flushed at the fondness in Potter’s eyes, and he looked away quickly, focusing on Scorpius busily putting on his parka.

After three tries Scorpius got his zip closed. Draco had never clapped so enthusiastically in his life.


	5. Samar

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/515143036934815762/25_days_13_zpsyosfy4mc.jpg)

**Samar.** Arabic. n. _Staying up late and chatting with a pleasant companion._

Draco felt like he was still in a dream.

While Potter caught up on some more baking, he spent a wonderful afternoon playing with his lively little son and it wasn’t long before he came to the resolute conclusion that Scorpius had to be the best and most perfect thing in his life.

Potter had helpfully explained to Scorpius that his Papa was a bit sick and had forgotten a few things. Scorpius had taken it in his stride and said he’d help Papa remember, before confiding in Draco that he sometimes forgot things too, like his teacher’s name and brushing his teeth that morning. Draco had pursed his lips and suppressed a snicker.

Despite the time spent with his son that afternoon, not a single memory had come back. He supposed he wouldn’t be able to put off dealing with things for much longer, and dreaded talking to Potter about it.

He recalled Potter saying he’d been a bit off the night before, well _older_ Draco’s night before, not his own. Although, weren’t they the same person? Therefore… _Merlin’s beard, this was so confusing._

He needed to figure out what had happened, why he had been transported fifteen years into the future. How he could get back, or if he even could? And therein also lay a predicament, he’d be putting himself straight back into _vanishing cabinet hell_. He couldn’t describe how relieving it was not to have to worry about that sodding cabinet for just one day.

After a tasty spaghetti dinner cooked by Potter, the clock struck seven heralding Scorpius’ bedtime. Potter told Draco they usually took turns putting Scorpius to bed, and that he’d done it last night, but under the circumstances he thought it wise that he do it again tonight so Draco could observe the routine.

Draco paid careful attention to everything Potter did, and was impressed with what a natural parent he was, if a touch irked. _Bloody Saint Potter, of course he's a perfect parent_. If he wasn't getting Scorpius cheerfully back on track when he was half undressed and distracted by his Lego, he was singing some sort of toothbrushing song about red, blue and white stripes, while Scorpius brushed along in time to it. Potter even got Draco interested in a story about three billy goats, and was charmed by his various gruff voices for each goat and the troll under the bridge.

Scorpius didn’t seem to mind that Draco wasn’t joining in. However, after the story, and a glass of water, and finding Fred—his stuffed ferret—and a tissue for his nose, and a fresh tissue because the first one was snotty now and he might need one during the night, Scorpius insisted on a big kiss and cuddle from his Papa.

Draco sat on the bed and wrapped Scorpius in his arms, feeling a little joyous sparkle reverberate between them, and the boy pressed his still slightly gooey nose to his neck and whispered, “In case you’ve forgotten it, Papa, I love you the most-est.”

Draco’s heart swelled to twice its size and and he whispered back, “I may have forgotten some things, but I know have always loved you Scorpius. Always.”

After helping Potter clean up the kitchen, and tidy away Scorpius’s toys and books which had been left strewn around the sitting room, Draco settled on the couch. Despite it being spacious with high ceilings, the sitting room—originally the drawing room, but seemingly Potter had thought that rather stuffy and renamed it—was a surprisingly cosy space.

Potter joined him carrying two brown glass bottles.

“Beer?” Potter angling a bottle at him.

“Lovely, thank you.” Draco took the bottle, fingers brushing against Potter’s, their warmth a stark contrast to the ice cold bottle.

He didn't admit to Potter that he hadn’t tried beer before. He took a sip and grimaced. It was weird: bitter and fizzy.

Potter set the fire blazing in the giant black marble fireplace with a flick of his wrist.

“So,” Potter said, “crazy day, eh?”

“Another of your famous understatements.” He took another sip. It wasn’t _completely_ foul.

Potter was looking at him again. With those intense green eyes. Draco took a deep breath. Now was the time.

“I want to know,” he said, “what happened. I mean, last thing I knew we were on opposing sides of a war, and now… well, evidently we both survived and clearly some things have changed. Changed a great deal.”

Potter sucked in a breath. “Yeah. A lot happened, Draco. Voldemort was defeated. We won.” Looking down, he picked at a thread on his sleeve. “A lot of people died though, and many more were pretty traumatised, so it’s not been all rainbows and lollipops, but yeah, we beat him.”

“And Dumbledore? Is he— Did I—?” Draco wasn’t sure how much to say, how much Potter knew.

“He’s dead, Draco. You couldn't do it in the end, so Snape did it for you.”

Draco didn't know whether to be relieved or angry that Snape had succeeded in interfering, but he hadn’t expected to feel sad about his headmaster dying—he’d always despised the old fool—but he did, and it felt rotten.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Potter went on to tell him more about the war, about how Snape was dead, about how he, Draco, had helped in the end, by not identifying him to the Death Eaters in his house. Draco listened numbly, it all seemed like a far-fetched tale, and not even a fun one like Beedle would tell.

“Talk to me about something else, Potter, I can’t—” his voice wavered, “I don’t think I can process all that heavy stuff right now. Tell me about now. What do I do with myself now, in this world? Have I been allowed to work?”

Potter looked relieved. Draco supposed it must be difficult for him to relive those war stories. After getting them two more beers, he now seemed much more comfortable talking about how Draco had aced his Arithmancy and Ancient Runes NEWTs and gone straight from Hogwarts Eighth Year to a trainee role as a curse-breaker for Gringotts. He revealed that Draco had worked alongside one of the Weasleys named Bill, whom he apparently got on with like a house on fire, having been together on multiple adventures in Egypt and further afield. Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever met Bill Weasley but he nodded along nonetheless.

Harry explained that once Scorpius came along Draco transferred to a Ministry curse-breaking job which didn’t involve nearly as much danger and little to no travel. Now, he apparently spent his days removing curses, hexes and jinxes from illegally bewitched objects and dark artifacts that the Ministry had confiscated. Draco detected a note of pride in Potter’s voice as he described what Draco did. His chest felt fuzzy and tight and he wondered whether whatever the hell had transported him to this timeline was making him feel physically ill.

“And what about you, Potter, what do you do?”

“I don’t really have a full time job. I used to work as an Auror but I quit when I was twenty-nine.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. He didn't think Potter a quitter.

Potter noticed his surprise. “They were trying to transfer me to a desk job after a particularly nasty accident where I had to stay for a week in St Mungo’s, and I just couldn’t see see myself sitting behind a desk for the next however long. So now I bake a lot, mainly for charities, I do some hours part-time at Ron and George’s shop.” At Draco’s blank look he explained about Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. “And I collect Scorp from school most days, except on Thursdays when you have your day off. And what else?” He looked around him. “Oh bloody hell, yeah, I have three children, how did I forget to mention them? I take care of James, Albus and Lily at the weekends.”

_Potter has three children? No wonder he’s so bloody good with kids._

“They live with their mother?” Draco offered.

“Yeah.” Potter looked towards the fire and said no more. Draco didn’t push for more information. They sat in silence, sipping their beers.

“I guess we’ve both done things in our life we regret,” Potter eventually said, adding quickly, “I don’t mean the kids, I mean—” and he trailed off.

“That’s certainly true in my case,” Draco mused, “But I hardly think our regrets are comparable. I’ll bet the Malfoy fortune you’ve never done anything truly dark or evil in your life. You’re the consummate good guy, Potter, sickeningly so. I, on the other hand— Well, this will tell you all you need to know,” and he rolled up his sleeve displaying the mark he had been branded with in a grisly ritual he was unlikely to ever forget. _Wait ‘til Potter sees this_.

Draco was stunned at how faded the Dark Mark was, the last time he’d properly looked, it had been raw and vivid.

“Oh Draco, that old mark’s not you. And people aren’t either good guys or bad guys. They’re like salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.”

Draco snorted, “What? I’m a salad?”

“Oh nothing, er, well, it’s a Lemony Snicket quote,” Potter chuckled at Draco’s raised eyebrows, “Nevermind. It’s a book James likes. It made sense before I said it. I guess I’m trying to say that we've all got both light and dark inside us—someone I admired very, very much told me that—and it’s how we choose to act that matters, which can be pretty fucking tricky and scary to figure out.”

Draco nodded. He was disconcerted at how spot on Potter really was.

The wind howled outside, making the window panes rattle. Harry scooted closer on the sofa, pressing his hip against Draco’s.

“Hear that? _That_ is the sound of ‘cuddle weather’...and right now I really think you could do with one. It’s been an overwhelming day for you, I can tell. How about it?”

Draco stiffened. _What was with Potter’s obsession with hugs and cuddles?_ Draco was _not_ the cuddling sort—prior cuddles with his five year old son notwithstanding.

But then Potter gave Draco what could only be described as a puppy dog look and Draco felt something stutter in his chest. And fuck, he _was_ feeling pretty shaken.

“Too awkward?” asked Potter.

“Uh, well perhaps a quick hug would be okay,” Draco blurted. _Shit, was he insane?_

“Come here then, you,” and Potter wrapped his strong arms around him. Draco slowly lifted his own arms and gingerly put them around Potter’s waist. It felt odd to be hugging a man that was not his father, and heavens knew he had rarely done _that_. It felt odd, but also good. And in a sort of familiar tingly way, like he could feel Potter’s magic seeping into him and comforting him.

He relaxed and breathed deeply, inhaling Potter’s warm scent. He detected the apple shampoo he’d used earlier and and a hint of cinnamon spice.

“It’s gonna be fine, you know,” came Potter’s muffled voice from his shoulder, “I know it’s weird for you now, but your memories will return soon and we’ll be just like we were before.”

Draco pulled back and looked at Potter. “I don’t know anything about ‘us’ or what we were before. Last I knew we could barely be in the same room together without spewing vitriol at one another or firing hexes.”

“I _could_ tell you all about us, but why don’t we wait until the morning? See if it hasn’t all returned to you by then? I think ‘us’ is something that needs to be be felt and experienced rather than told.”

Draco swallowed dryly, his mind panicking with ideas and images of what exactly Potter might mean by that. Potter lifted his hand and brushed Draco’s fringe out of his eyes. Potter was staring at him, and when he slowly licked his lips, Draco forgot to breathe for a second.

Potter’s gaze drifted down to Draco’s mouth, and Draco realised with a jolt that Potter wanted to kiss him.

Draco had shared a few kisses at school and during the holidays, first with a couple of girls, and finding that decidedly ordinary, with Blaise, Theo and the gardener’s son at the Manor. So he was used to the signals. And Potter was definitely angling for a kiss.

_And what’s so wrong with that? I am supposed to be his boyfriend._

_Everything, Draco. Everything’s wrong with that. It’s Harry fucking Potter._

He’d always found Potter objectively attractive, but never allowed himself to think any further than that, happy to obsess instead about ways to get his attention and harass him and generally make his life miserable.

And yet here he was, in The Chosen One’s arms. After one day, one sodding day, what was wrong with him?

He cleared his throat. “I should be getting to bed.”

Potter nodded, “Of course. You’re tired, it’s been...tiring. We should go to bed.”

“We?” _Did Potter mean together? Of course he meant together. Fuck._

“Oh,” said Potter, looking crestfallen. “Well, I can sleep in one of the spare rooms, I suppose.”

“Not at all Potter, I’m the imposter in your life at the moment, I’ll take a spare room. You sleep in your own bed.”

“ _Our_ own bed. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever slept in it without you since you and Scorp moved in. It’ll be _cold_.” And there he was making that damnable puppy dog face again.

“You’re not making this very easy for me, Potter,” Draco warned.

“When have I ever made things easy for you?” Potter grinned. “I’m hardly going to start now.”

“Show me to the spare room, you insufferable git,” Draco scowled. Potter laughed at that and Draco couldn’t help joining in.

He was ending one of the most bizarre days of his life day laughing with Harry Potter, and the weirdest part was it didn’t feel all that weird


	6. Glaswen

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/515565549904723986/25_days_5_zpsxhc6jfnq.jpg)

**Glaswen**. Welsh. n. _This literally means a ‘blue smile’; one that is sarcastic or mocking._

Draco awoke once again with a start in an unknown room. Dark red furnishings, four poster bed. Where was he?

He turned to the source of the noise to see Potter coming into the room waving a spatula. _Oh fuck._ The memory of the previous day flooded back.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!” Potter declared brightly.

“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco rubbed his eyes and looked around, “Oh fucking great, I’m still here.”

“Well aren't you a ray of sunshine. Speaking of which...” Potter walked to the windows and opened the curtains. Draco squinted at the cool light spilling into the room. “And of course you’re still here. Here is the present. You’ve just lost your memory, it's not like you’ve travelled forward fifteen years in time and are sitting about waiting for the DeLorean to be fixed to take you back.”

“Merlin, what are you babbling about now?”

“Draco. Surely you’ve seen that film, it’s an oldie.”

Draco grimaced.

“You do know what a film is, don’t you?” At Draco’s withering look he whistled, “Wow, how wide-ranging and far-reaching the knowledge of a pureblood child surely is.”

Draco sighed, “I’m assuming from your smart comment it’s a Muggle thing, and I’m _sure_ 2011 Draco knows all about it. However, I think it’s pretty obvious that I can remember exactly diddly-squat.”

“Right. So you’re no better, no recollection of your life after sixth year? None at all?”

Draco shook his head.

Potter frowned.

“Okaaay. Soooo, we’ve now established you’re not going anywhere, you’re stuck here. With me.” He was pacing back and forth and then paused. “Or at least with Scorpius, you’re his dad after all. I suppose you could decide you don’t want me.” Potter looked at him with a question in his eyes.

Draco didn't know what to say. Did Potter expect him to just rush into a romantic relationship with him after all they’d been through in school?

When Draco said nothing, Potter looked away out the window for a moment, then carried on talking.

“Yeah, um. Point is, you need to get your memory back.” Potter turned to face Draco, expression decisive. “Tell you what, I’ll call the Ministry and tell them you’re taking a sick day. And then I’m taking you to St Mungo’s. Don’t give me that look, we need to find out what’s happened to you, if you’ve got a condition, or been cursed or something. Who knows, it might be a simple case of some spellwork to retrieve the memories, and then you’ll be sorted. First things first though, there’s a plate of bacon and eggs with your name on it.”

Draco heaved himself out of bed.

* * *

“What do you mean, you can’t treat him?” The exasperation was plain on Harry’s face.

Draco closed his eyes and tilted his head back on the pillow. He’d been through an hour’s worth of assessments and tests, and various Healers had been in to prod and poke him and ask ridiculous questions about current and past events. He wasn’t convinced he could have told them who the current Wimbourne Wasps keeper or the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic was even if he _hadn't_ lost his memory.

“It’s like I said,” Healer Fitzwallace was saying, “There are traces of Dark Magic in Mr Malfoy’s system, but we will be unable to determine how to treat it unless we know exactly what caused this significant retrograde amnesia. It’s too dangerous. Given the nature of Mr Malfoy’s work, it’s highly likely it was triggered by a cursed item or a Dark artifact rather than by potions abuse, a seizure, a head injury or any other sort of trauma. We need to know _exactly_ what he was doing the day before, and what items he may have been in contact with. Aside from the memory loss, he appears to be in excellent health. What we need is for you to report back when you have diarised events leading up to the onset of the amnesia, including an itemised list of what Mr Malfoy was working on, where the articles were obtained, what his findings were and what action he took with them.”

“Oh is that all? Well that _is_ fabulous. Anything else? Should he keep a food diary? What about toilet habits? Perhaps I should try him on various potions and report to you on the results? Maybe I’ll hit on something and cure him myself? They don’t call me The Saviour for _nothing_ , do they?”

Draco grinned. He wasn’t used to Potter using his sarcastic mouth on his behalf. Until now, he'd only heard the famous Potter sass being directed at himself—or indeed Professors Snape and Umbridge—and he found he quite liked it.

“There’ll be no need to go to such lengths Mr Potter,” Fitzwallace gave an irritating fake little laugh, “as long as you can provide the information I specified I see no reason why we won’t be able to determine the cure. Just remember to ensure Mr Malfoy is kept relaxed and not put under undue stress. Try to go about life as you ordinarily would; talk, explore, interact with anything that takes your fancy. Everyday familiar things may help to bring his memories back.”

* * *

They exited via the rundown Purge and Dowse clothes shop, and strolled a few blocks into a residential area. They’d decided to walk for a bit to clear their heads rather than Apparating home straight away. The air was crisp and a layer of frost glittered and crunched underfoot.

“Well I guess we need to speak to Bill,” Harry began.

“I thought you said Bill was my colleague when I worked for Gringotts? How is he going to know what I’ve been working on?”

“He was, but he moved to a Ministry job not long before you, think it might have been after his third child was born.” They rounded a corner onto a square with a park in the centre, and crossed the road to take a shortcut through the park. “Come to think of it, it was Bill who put in the good word for you when a second vacancy came up. You were delighted, not least because Bill’s replacement at Gringotts, Zacharias Smith, was a being bit of a twat, at least according to you.”

“I see. Yes, well I don’t know about now, but Smith was certainly a conceited twat in school.”

“Right,” Harry laughed, and then gasped, “Gosh, if _only_ he’d been as humble and unassuming as you were.”

“Oi! You can wipe that sarcastic smile off your face right now, you utter git.” Draco put his hands on his hips.

“Meek and mild as ever, Draco darling,” Potter sighed, batting his eyelashes.

Draco kicked leaves at Potter. “Tosser.” _Ugh, and don’t call me darling._

They walked on through the tree-lined pathway that bisected the park. All of a sudden, clusters of fairy lights began to appear in the trees, one, then another, then another, in a sequence that traversed the whole park. It almost appeared magical. It reminded Draco that Christmas was mere weeks away. He’d not even been to Hogsmeade to buy gifts yet for Mother and Fath—

Oh.

He wouldn’t have to do that now. Buy them gifts. Or would he? He needed to find out about Mother and Father. Potter hadn’t mentioned them yet. Merlin, he felt so untethered to his life right now. He didn’t belong here. Despite it being pleasant enough, what with Scorpius and Penny and... and—well, it all felt _wrong_. He was having a hard time accepting there was no chance at all of going back to his old life.

Potter had started talking again.

“..so, like, you need to meet Bill, and find out what the hell happened on Wednesday at the Ministry.”

“You don’t think Bill has been affected too?”

“Could have, I ‘spose. Merlin, that would be unfortunate. Although I’ve not heard anything from Fleur. That’s his wife.”

“Well let’s send him an Owl when we get back to the house.”

“He’s got a mobile, so it’d be quicker if we just text him.”

“Pardon me? I assume you’re speaking in 2011 vernacular again.”

“Ah. Right. Mobile phones, they’re a Muggle communication device. You have one actually... somewhere.” Potter rubbed his hand through his hair, and Draco watched as it failed to flop back into place afterwards, just stayed doggedly sticking up. He wondered what it might feel like, if it was soft. He’d always been fascinated with Potter’s hair, such a contrast to his own well-groomed blondness.

Potter pulled a rectangular metal item out of his pocket to show Draco. _Oh. That looks familiar._ He pressed a button and it lit up, and Salazar, now he was looking at a bizarre close up photograph of his and Potter’s faces, eyes trained on each other and grinning ridiculously. They were wearing matching woolly hats, his said ‘Fluff’ and Potter’s said ‘Fluffer’.

“Goodness, how odd. Whoever took that photo of us was right up close to us. And ‘Fluffier’ is missing an ‘i’, by the way.”

Potter snorted. “A fluffer is a person who—oh never mind. This is called a selfie, a photo you take yourself...of yourself. It was taken with this phone.”

“Muggle phones that take photos. You couldn’t make it up,” Draco had to admit he was fascinated. “Thinking about it, I do remember seeing one just like this on the nightstand yesterday next to my wand. Is that what it was, _my_ phone camera device?”

“Yes, it’s called a smartphone. Okay excellent. Well I’ll send Bill a text message now, and when we get home I’ll show you how yours works. We’ll have you surfing the web in no time.”

 _Surfing the web?_ Draco was starting to get accustomed to this constant feeling of bewilderment.

* * *

Surfing the web turned out to be a most illuminating experience. Rather than it being some sort of arachnid-bothering sporting activity, it was more like having access to all the world’s experts, soothsayers, corresponders and libraries. Granted it was all Muggle information, but after successfully putting Scorpius to bed, Draco spent a whole evening asking a sage called _Google_ all manner of questions.

As he tapped on the screen of the phone, the strains of Potter’s singing—he appeared to be incapable of baking without some manner of caterwauling, not to mention the accompanying arse-swinging—were drifting in from the kitchen, where he was making a batch of mince pies: _“...she'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain...”_

“Potter?” Draco called out from the sofa.

Potter paused his singing, “Uh-huh?”

“Potter, did you know that 62% of Muggle men and 40% of Muggle women don’t wash their hands after going to the lavatory? How disgusting is that? I mean surely hygiene is even more essential for them, what with their lack of cleaning charms and sub-par healing techniques.”

“Yeah. That’s gross.” He went back to his warbling.

“Potter?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s a jellyfish whose sting inflicts its victims with an impending sense of doom _so_ bad it makes the sufferer beg their Healer for death. Strangely it doesn’t appear to be a magical creature. I bet if you harvested the venom…”

Potter replied something nonsensical about leopards not changing their spots. Then suddenly: _“upside, inside out, livin’ la vida loca!”_

Draco rolled his eyes. _What utter rot. Make a choice, English or Spanish, and stick to it._

“Potterrrr! Get in here!”

Potter came rushing in wiping his hands on his ‘Fantastic Beasts and How To Cook Them’ apron. “What is it?”

“Have you ever seen a more adorable thing than this Silkie Chicken? Look at it, it’s so bloody fluffy.”

Potter seemed strangely unaffected by the Silkie Chicken despite Draco showing him several more photos and a YouTube clip of them scratching around in a farmyard.

Several more amazing facts later Potter announced he had cleared up the kitchen, Owled the Ministry to request a few more days off for Draco, arranged a meeting with Bill that coming Monday, fed Penny, and was now going to bed.

Draco waved him off distractedly and continued surfing until the phone battery died, somewhere between 3.30 and 4am.


	7. Bachram

Prompt pic : [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/516658601792634900/25_days_7_zpsoitviiok.jpg)

**Bachram**. Irish. n. _Bachram is boisterous, rambunctious behaviour_

Draco slept late the next morning after his late night on the internet and having had a vivid dream about super fluffy chickens being herded by a shiny Muggle with a heavy blonde fringe and pointy shoulder pads clucking _pa-pa-pa-pokerface pa-pa-pokerface_. It made a refreshing change from dreams about the Dark Lord torturing his parents, but it did leave him feeling a mite disoriented. As he dragged his arse out of bed and down the stairs, he reminded himself he’d have to ask Potter about Mother and Father soon.

“Glad you’re finally awake, you better get yourself fed and dressed quick. The kids’ll be here any minute. I’ve sent Scorpius to tidy his room, although I don’t know why I bother, it’ll be a pixie's nest again within ten minutes.”

“Kids?” Draco asked sleepily.

“I told you I have the children at the weekends. I’m ninety nine point nine per cent sure I told you.” Potter narrowed his eyes.

“Right, perhaps you did. Remind me please of the names and ages of your progeny.”

Potter’s lips quirked. “ _My progeny?_ Ah yes, there’s the Draco I know and love.”

Draco winced and his arse clenched. He still couldn't get used to Potter’s casual affectionate utterances, especially when they contained the L word.

“Well James is the eldest, he’s seven. Albus is five, same as Scorpius, and Merlin, are those two inseparable when they’re together, it’s pretty cute, although Al does act like he’s Scorp’s dad sometimes, I’ve told him so many times to stop babying him but that just seems to be their dynamic. Lily’s the youngest, she’s three so be prepared for a lot of ‘why’ questions from her end.”

Draco felt more than a little apprehensive to meet them, especially when he was only just getting used to interacting with his own son. He wondered how much use he'd be to Potter today, especially if his offspring turned out to be anything like him, reckless, stubborn and, well, shamelessly overfamiliar.

He wolfed down his bowl of Weetabix and headed upstairs to get dressed.

* * *

Draco returned downstairs in time to hear the Floo roar and see three sooty children tumbling out, arms linked. The disembodied head of Ginevra Weasley appeared in the fireplace barking, “Behave yourselves and do everything Daddy and Mr. Malfoy tell you. I don’t want to hear any horror stories tomorrow!”

 _So the girl Weasel is the mother of Potter’s children. Interesting_. Draco wondered if they’d been married and what had happened, and remembered Potter’s tight expression the other day. He thought it best not to ask; the wisest option was to leave that one for when his memories returned.

“Seeya tomorrow afternoon, Gin,” Potter yelled. She nodded brusquely and disappeared.

“Daddy!!” all three kids shouted, descending on Potter arms extended. Suddenly all the soot covering them disappeared and Potter grabbed all three in a group hug. _Non-verbal cleaning spell? Not bad, Potter._

The oldest boy looked at Draco, and shouted “Ahoy, Mr Malfoy!”

He had scruffy brown hair and freckles and a rebellious glint in his eye. “Ahoy, er, James,” Draco replied, pleased he’d remembered his name.

“Merlin, Jamie, you’re not still on that pirate talk thing?” Potter curled his lip.

James stayed silent and narrowed his eyes.

Potter rolled his eyes. “James lad, be ye a pirate this weekend?”

Draco snorted.

“Arrr,” said James.

Potter turned to Draco. “Last weekend he wouldn't respond to anyone unless they spoke like a pirate. It was pretty difficult to get him to do anything. We kept forgetting. You ended up threatening to make him walk the plank.”

Just then there was a loud squeal from the younger boy, Albus. Draco turned to see Scorpius entering the kitchen holding Penny, and Albus running to hug them both.

Albus was a mini Harry Potter, same black messy hair and bright green eyes. Draco felt a pang of of something like regret to see him and Scorpius babbling excitedly to each other, so obviously firm friends.

The youngest one, Lily, was was the only one with red Weasley hair and she was currently clutching Potter’s leg and giggling as he walked around the kitchen with her attached.

“Golly, I've got a great big lump on my leg,” Potter deadpanned, stomping about.” What shall I do? Maybe I need to tickle it off!”

Lily screamed and detached herself immediately, and it was then she spotted the niffler.

“Penny, Penny, Penny,” she sang, “have you got any pennies for me today?”

Scorpius proceeded to turn the squeaking creature upside down and began to tickle her stomach. She yelped and squirmed and sure enough several coins tumbled out of her pouch along with a shiny gold trinket.

“What you got, Penny? A shiny fing?” cried Lily.

Albus picked it up. It was a golden tree ornament in the shape of a prancing reindeer.

“Naughty Penny!” Scorpius chided, “Not allowed to steal the tree decorations.”

The kids all ran to the sitting room to hang the reindeer back on the tree. Draco took a large calming breath. As an only child, he was unused to such a whirlwind of young people, and it set his nerves on edge a little.

He offered to help prepare the soup for lunch—which seemed to delight Potter no end—and a surreal sense of calm washed over him as Potter showed him how to chop onions and peel tomatoes. He was aware of how completely and utterly arseways it was to feel serenity in Potter’s presence—by rights he should have every hackle on his back up in high alert—and wondered if he could get used to such domesticity.

Albus’s whines drifted into the kitchen from the small room under the stairs, “Jaaames, you used the last of the toilet paper and didn’t go get any more! I’m stranded!”

James shouted from the sitting room. “Al matey, marooned aboard the poop deck, eh? Yeh scurvy dog!”

Potter wiped his hands on his jeans, and called, “Don’t worry I’ll sort it. I’m coming, Albus!”

Draco felt useless. He was definitely in over his head with this parenting thing.

After lunch, the kids retreated up to Scorpius’ room to play. Not five minutes later there was a smashing sound, and a call of “thar she blows!”

Draco and Potter ran upstairs and were met with the sight of four shocked children staring at a scattering of blue and white and silver shards of glass.

“Who broke it?” Potter asked, looking at each of the four children in turn. He raised his eyebrows. “Merlin, I can practically taste the guilt in the air.”

James was muttering something about hornswagglers and Lily’s arm shot out to point at Scorpius who was looking sheepish. Scorpius swallowed and darted his hands behind his back, “It was me, Daddy Harry, I’m sorry. I just wanted to show Albie the prettiest bauble.”

“And what’s behind your back, Scorp?” Potter asked gently. Scorpius brought his hands slowly forward. Draco saw bright red blood and without thinking lunged towards him and dropped to his knees.

“Your finger!” Draco cried, and grabbed the boy’s hands to inspect the damage. He let a breath out when he saw it was nothing serious. “It’s only a little cut, Scorp,” he soothed, “don’t worry.”

“No, Mr. Malfoy,” insisted Albus, “It’s a bad ouchie. Scorp, I’ll be your Healer.”

“Oh, here we go,” Potter sighed.

Albus scurried off and returned with a purple potion bottle and box of Peppa Pig plasters.

“Um, I think this time we’ll use a healing charm, instead of a potion, Al. Then you can patch Scorpius up with a plaster.”

Draco laughed, still feeling utterly useless. He was learning very quickly that parenting was pretty challenging. And never dull. Well, except for the Billy Goats Gruff, he was beginning to tire of that story and it had only been two nights.

He seemed to be doing okay with Scorpius though. Salazar, how he loved the kid already. He’d clearly done a pretty good job of raising him. However, he did wonder how his other self normally dealt with Potter’s rambunctious three.

He cast a Reparo on the bauble, and the children all cheered. Well, if nothing else, at least he had magic to fall back on to keep them entertained.

When bedtime came around, Draco was well and truly spent. He tucked Scorpius in while Potter saw to his lot.

“Papa, you’ve got your sometimes face on.”

“My sometimes face? What’s that, darling?

“When you have the sometimes face on I know that _sometimes_ you need a cuddle, and _sometimes_ you need to hex someone.” He tilted his head and squinted. “Right now I fink it's a cuddle.” He held his arms out.

Draco embraced his son and a feeling of calm _rightness_ washed over him. “You’re absolutely right, Scorp.”

* * *

Sunday brought with it more boisterousness, horseplay and pirate-talk, and by the time Ginevra Weasley arrived to collect them, Draco was shattered.

The atmosphere turned awkward as soon as she stepped out of the fireplace. If Ginevra was cool with Potter, she was arctic with Draco. Aloof didn’t even begin to describe it. He was itching to ask Potter what had happened but again his Slytherin self-preservation instinct told him it was safer to wait, maybe Potter would tell him about it in his own time.

He was glad when she left and it was back to their little family of three. And fuck, if it wasn’t starting to feel like just that. A little family of three. How had that happened? He hated to admit it but he was really starting to not only treasure his time spent with Scorpius, but Potter too. He’d always wondered what it would be like to be Potter’s friend, to be entrusted with his confidences like Granger and Weasley always had been. To be part of his adventures.

That evening he sat by the fire, stroking Penny’s back while she made an adorable snuffle-purring noise. Potter had just finished making a batch of gingerbread biscuits and he brought a couple in for Draco to try. They were heavenly, and went exceedingly well with his Earl Grey tea.

“You're a really great father, Potter,” he let slip without meaning to.

Potter’s eyes widened in surprise. “Thanks. And you are too. You're bloody amazing with Scorp, how you raised him on your own, I... I have so much admiration for you. And my kids love you too, you're firm but fair, and wicked fun. And… and when they figure out how to restore your memory, you'll realise how much...” Potter didn’t finish the sentence.

His memory. What would that feel like when it returned, would it rush in like a tidal wave or trickle back slowly like a dripping tap? He was meeting Bill the next day, and was sort of looking forward to finding out about the cursed things he worked on and unravelling the mystery.

“I miss you, Draco,” said Potter all of a sudden, snapping Draco back to the room. “I mean, the you who loves me back.” Potter looked right into his eyes and it was too intense, their greenness, they were eyes he could get lost in if he wasn't careful. Draco looked away to the flames dancing in the hearth.

Potter made a small noise that sounded like a gulp. “I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. I shouldn't have said that. I'm fine. Honestly. Your memories will come back and we'll be fine.”

Potter switched on the television which broke the tension and they watched a series of Muggles pitching inventions to some people who called themselves Dragons. Draco wasn't impressed with their dragonish-ness, but he did rather enjoy debating with Potter about the various Muggle inventions and their usefulness. And he very much enjoyed annoying Potter with Google facts such as Peter Jones’ net worth, in spite of the fact that he had no idea how many pounds there were to the Galleon.

* * *

_‘Stop, stop it! Please!’_

_Draco cried out but no sound escaped his mouth. His limbs were molasses. He tried to advance towards the head of the table but his movements were agonisingly slow._

_‘Stop! No more!’ His brain cried out, but no air left his lungs._

_A high cold voice: ‘He failed. And you shall pay for his disloyalty.’_

_A blood curdling cry. A broken shout._

_‘Mother!’ He inched through darkness, thick and enveloping, towards the screams. ‘Father!’_

_‘It's okay, it's alright. You're okay.’_

_‘I need to get to them.’_

_‘You’re okay.’_

_The screams grew fainter. He felt something familiar and soothing permeate him._

_The screaming dissolved. The horror pulsed a final ebb and receded._

“You're okay. You're safe.”

Potter.

Rubbing circles on his back. Soothing and familiar.

“You're safe Draco. It was just a bad dream.”

“Potter...Potter...I'm sor—”

“Shush, don't worry, it's over. I'll let you sleep now.” The mattress moved as Potter stood up, and his warm hand left Draco's back.

Draco shivered from the loss of contact. His face felt clammy and his hands still shook.

“Potter,” he croaked.

“Mmm?”

“Don't go… St-stay with me... Please?”

“Uh... Of course. Of course I’ll stay.”

A warm body joined him under the duvet. An arm reached around his waist and clasped his hand. He was safe. He was home.

He fell into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Tretår

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354509358465024/25_days_17_zpsngdxekmu.jpg)

**Tretår**. Swedish. n. _A third coffee. (Tår = cup of coffee. Patår = refill. Tretår = ‘threefill’)_

Draco woke up feeling cosy and snug. Cosy and snug and warm. So warm. He stretched out in a yawn and his hand brushed against a smooth hard body.

He sat up suddenly. _Potter!_ The nightmare! His stomach knotted sharply.

He leapt out of bed looking for a t-shirt to pull on.

“Morning,” a sleepy Potter mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Yes, perfectly fine, Potter.” This was so awkward. Where was his arsing t-shirt? “Ah, um, thank you for, er, comforting me last night, I'm sorry you had to—”

“S'fine. Seemed like a bad one, huh?”

_Oh fuck, he'd probably been shouting in his sleep again. How mortifying._

Draco really didn't feel like talking about it and scrabbled around in his head for a change of subject. He felt his nipples stiffen in the brisk chill of the bedroom causing him to glance down at his chest. _The scars. Perfect._

“Potter? What do you know about these scars on my chest?”

Potter froze mid-stretch. “You… you don’t remember how you got those?”

“Clearly. Or I wouldn’t be asking. I’m not in the habit of setting pop quizzes first thing on a Monday morning.” At Potter’s forlorn look he added, “Yes, my chest _was_ scar-free, before a few days ago. If you don’t know about them, just say.”

“I do know,” Potter said haltingly, as he got out of bed. “I know because it was me. I did it.”

“ _You_ did this to me?” Draco had _not_ been expecting that. “Fuck, Potter... And they couldn't heal it? That must have been some dark fucking spell.”

“It was. You could have died. I'm so sorry.”

“You tried to kill me,” Draco said. He didn't know why this should bother him. Of course Potter would try to kill him. Hadn't Draco been trying to kill Dumbledore? So why did it sting?

Potter walked over to him and took his hand. Goosebumps rose up on Draco’s arms and chest.

_I could have died._

“I never wanted to kill you, Draco, ever. It _was_ a dark spell, I should never have cast it not knowing what it was.” Potter squeezed his eyes shut. "It was reckless and dangerous and really stupid.”

He pulled Draco towards the bed, and they sat facing each other. His face was pinched in pain and Draco had an urge to touch it, to soothe him. Instead he whispered, “Tell me.”

Potter nodded, and without meeting Draco's gaze, he carefully recounted what had happened in the fourth floor bathroom that day. Draco listened, his heart thudding more at the emotion in Potter's voice, than the actual story. Potter was really cut up over this, just like Draco, only he didn't have the scars to prove it.

“I should have realised. I should have seen how much pain you were in. You were just a scared boy with an impossible task, and I blasted you with that curse, and then there was blood, so much blood.”

_I could have died. But I didn't._

“You're cold,” Draco said, noticing Potter was shivering. He didn't like seeing Potter so torn up. It was a strange and new feeling. He shook his head rapidly to quell the emotion that was welling up in his chest. He scowled, “Honestly, Potter, I don’t know if I should hug you or hex you.”

“Can I choose?” Potter reached out and traced one of the scars with trembling fingertips. Draco bit his lip to stop himself reacting to Potter's touch, which tingled with magic. He nodded.

Potter moved closer and put his arms around Draco, hands sliding across his back. The gesture felt familiar, the feel of skin against skin, bare chests touching. After a moment's hesitation, Draco stiffly returned the embrace.

Potter mumbled, “Merlin, I'm so sorry.” 

Draco relaxed into Potter's arms. “It's okay, I'm alive, you're alive, we're fine.” He wasn't quite sure how it had ended up with him comforting Potter but, not for the first time, he was more concerned about how _not weird_ it felt. About how right it felt, when surely it should feel very very wrong.

“Come on, Potter,” he said, pulling away, “let's go downstairs and have some breakfast.”

* * *

Later that morning, after Potter Apparated off to work at the Weasley's joke shop, Draco went to meet Bill Weasley. Potter had said he would take an hour off to accompany him, but Draco had insisted he could manage perfectly well without a chaperone.

He spotted Bill sitting in the window of _The Dark Tarts_ , the bakery and coffee shop in Diagon Alley where they'd arranged to meet. He could tell it was Bill from the ginger hair and freckles, but the grinning and enthusiastic hand waving was another clue.

The bell tinkled as he entered the warm shop. It was a cosy place that DMLE staff apparently frequented, and the owners had gone all out for Christmas: the place was bedecked with flickering candles, holly wreaths, gleaming baubles which changed colour from gold to emerald to crimson, and table centrepieces made up of winter berries, nuts and tiny glittering fireflies.

Potter had helpfully already briefed Bill on all that had happened, and Draco was grateful as it minimised the awkwardness. Potter had also told Draco about Fenrir Greyback’s attack on Bill, so he was aware his face would be scarred, and managed to avoid flinching at the sight of the three purple jagged lines splitting his cheek from chin to eye.

Despite the sturdy clap on the shoulder and his guffawing at Draco’s plight, _and_ the fact he was a Weasley, Bill turned out to be a most charming fellow. He ordered them coffees and a ‘dark tart’ each, and Draco found himself relaxing and chatting easily with him.

Over a dark chocolate and black cherry tartlet, and several coffee refills, he and Bill discussed the five items that Draco had been working on the day before he lost his memory.

The first was a Necromantic Thai Amulet containing the powdered bones of a Hoeng Prai ghost—some poor girl who’d died unnaturally, as far as Draco could gather—that had been tampered with, so that rather than working to imbue the wearer with good luck in business, gambling, seduction, and social situations, would likely result in the opposite: total ruin.

The second was a cursed silver ring which had once belonged to a lady called Amabel Rosier. Looking at the notes, Draco had got as far as deciphering the Arabic engravings on the ring but written no more on it.

The next was a small crystal squirrel, with citrine eyes, holding a golden topaz acorn. It had been part of an antique crystal menagerie belonging to the Rowle family. Draco saw the photo of it and it was a darling little object, he just knew Scorpius would love it, but unfortunately the topaz held a powerful curse. Again, Draco had not written much regarding the nature of the curse.

The fourth item was a cursed dildo, and Draco managed to spit his coffee all over the parchment at that, requiring several Tergeo’s to mop it all up. Bill hooted with laughter, while signalling for a refill.

“You'd be surprised how many of these we have to deal with. Some wizards have _way_ too much time on their hands.” _Too bloody right._ Draco imagined he couldn’t possibly have been cursed by the dildo as the curse only activated when internally inserted. On the other hand, he really didn’t know enough about how dedicated his older self was to his job, or how stupid he’d become in his old age, so perhaps he shouldn’t rule it out.

Oh, and of bloody course: there was a fucking cursed necklace. It seemed Karma was laughing at him. This one was amethyst rather than opal, though still quite deadly if touched. His notes didn’t mention any effects on memory only that it would bring the wearer untold pain and possibly death. They felt it was unlikely to have triggered the amnesia but was worth looking into further.

Bill confirmed he would do some more digging on all the items and consult with their boss: one Hermione Granger. Draco baulked initially to find out that Granger was in charge of the department; he and she had never been on friendly terms, in fact he’d been pretty awful to her thinking back. He sincerely hoped things had changed in fifteen years, because he realised he was in a situation where he could definitely do with her famed researching and reasoning skills. _And,_ supplied his brain, _because you hope you’re a better person these days._

“Want another refill, Draco?” Bill asked when they’d finally put the parchments away.

“No, honestly I couldn’t. I think I’ve had my week’s allowance of caffeine in one morning. But thank you, it’s been interesting and... pleasant, very pleasant.”

“Oh, I should mention... until your memory returns, you won’t be able to resume your post at the Ministry. But hopefully that won’t be too long now that you’ve got the information for St Mungo’s. It’ll be great to have you back, to be honest, we’re snowed under.”

Draco nodded, plucking a walnut from the table centrepiece and turning it over in his fingers. It was understandable, the work he did clearly required years of training and experience. He wouldn’t last five minutes with his knowledge of a few schoolboy hexes and jinxes and a handful of O.W.L.s. It didn’t stop him feeling a little useless though.

He Apparated to St Mungo’s and dropped off the list. After a brief check-up, the Healers said they would be in touch once they’d looked into it, and to let them know if any memories started returning, or if his colleagues discovered anything more of relevance.

Draco returned to the house to find it empty, and remembered with a disappointed pang that Potter was helping out at the joke shop that day. He'd been weirdly looking forward to updating Potter on his meeting with Bill. It would have to wait.

Unsure what to do with himself in the meantime, Draco began googling ‘amulets’. Perhaps the Muggles would have some insights. Or, even better, maybe Lady Gaga had updated her Twitter. He was starting to become rather a fan.


	9. Vetullhen

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354725285298187/done_2_zpswqotnkkr.jpg)

**Vetullhen**. Albanian. n. _An eyebrow arched like the crescent moon_

Draco awoke to find Potter in his bed again, one leg resting heavily on top of his. He jerked his leg to free it. Potter awoke with a yawn, focusing unspectacled green eyes on him.

“Heyyy,” Potter said huskily, lifting his head off the pillow. His hair was a state, and his face had crease marks on it, but the sight of him still took Draco's breath away. “You had another bad dream. But you settled when I rubbed your back.”

“Ah,” was all Draco could muster. How embarrassing. This was getting ridiculous.

“Listen Draco,” Potter continued, raking his hand through his hair. “I really don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with, but I think you might sleep better in our room. I mean, in our bed... with me. Like, I promise not to try anything, or touch you... if you don’t want. Only if... if you need it... I mean if you have another nightmare. It seems...” Potter looked bashful, “it seems to help when I touch you.”

Draco closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, then let out a sigh of resignation. How different would it be than Potter joining him in this bed each night?

“I suppose I could try it. If you swear... _no funny business._ ”

Potter held up his hands. “None. I swear.” He smiled and arched an eyebrow. “Just keep your pyjamas on, okay? You’re extremely difficult to resist in just those tight little pants.”

Draco flushed as he recalled being too warm and shucking off his bottoms during the night. Well he hadn’t been predicting a Potter invasion, had he? The contents of his ‘tight little pants’ began to take a definite interest as his brain unhelpfully supplied him with several possible ways that Potter could invade him.

“Oh piss off, Potter,” he said, leaping up, grabbing a towel and racing to the shower, before his traitorous cock could give him away.

* * *

He spent the morning helping Potter bake several batches of mince pies. Potter had been surprised that Draco wanted to help, saying he’d never shown much interest in cooking and baking up to now.

Draco felt an enormous sense of smugness that he was outdoing his other self, and it even helped him to tolerate Potter’s off-key chirping. So much so that at one point Draco couldn't help joining in to a round of ‘ _go shorty, it’s your birthday’_ , which amused Potter to such an extent that he accidentally dropped the pastry he’d just rolled out and stepped on it with his bare feet.

* * *

As it got closer to bedtime Draco started to feel nervous about moving back into Potter’s bedroom. He had never purposely shared a bed with a man before. His head told him he was being silly, that there was nothing to be worried about, this was Potter. He was a Gryffindor: if he said he wasn’t going to try anything, then he wouldn’t.

But part of him wasn’t really worried about what Potter would or wouldn't do. It was more concerned about the fact that a tiny fizzing spark had ignited at the base of his stomach at the thought of Potter rubbing his back again in slow lazy circles.

Potter said he’d go up to bed first and Draco could follow. When he entered the room twenty minutes later Potter was already in bed. In the gloom, Draco could make out the hard planes of his back where the blanket wasn't covering him, and stood staring for several moments. _Merlin, why was the man not wearing a top in December?_

He washed and changed and slipped into the bed, careful not to wake Potter, or worse, _accidentally touch him_. Despite his nerves, it was comforting just knowing he was there, and he lay awake for several minutes, inhaling Potter’s man-scent, and listening to his steady breathing. He didn’t know what it was about Potter’s touch, but the git was right, it _did_ soothe him. He fell asleep wondering what that could mean.

* * *

The following morning he awoke, in Potter’s bed, next to Potter’s warm body, face in a Potter-scented pillow, to the sound of Potter giggling.

“What in Circe’s name is so funny?” he grumbled into the pillow.

“You were making some pretty interesting noises in your sleep just now.”

“W-what? Why were you watching me sleep?” Draco turned his head to glare at Potter. “And besides—I don’t talk in my sleep and I never have!”

Potter smirked and raised an eyebrow. “I never said anything about talking. More like... _moans_.”

“What the—? I am going to hex the _balls_ off you.” Draco reached for his wand, as Potter yelped and jumped out of bed.

* * *

Potter was helping out at the joke shop for a second time this week and Draco was at a bit of a loss as to what to do. He decided to make coffee, put some bread in the toasting contraption and locate that Nutella stuff that Scorpius was addicted to. On the fourth try he figured out the toaster—and how to open the kitchen windows to let out the smoke and the smell of burnt toast—and, once he was seated at the table with his breakfast, he set about asking Google about crystal squirrels and golden topaz.

Draco jumped when the Floo suddenly roared to life.

“Who’s there?” he shouted, grabbing his wand.

“Whoa, steady, Draco. Careful where you’re pointing that dessert spoon.”

Draco looked at his hand, heart still racing. _A spoon?_ Oh. His wand was still on the table.

“Potter, what are you doing back so soon?”

“Soon? I’ve been gone for four hours.”

“Four hours? Weird. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back, excellent, excellent, good you’re here, I’ve found out some crazy things about cursed gemstones and ancient dildos. You won’t believe—”

“Draco, Draco, slow down, how many coffees have you had?” Potter was looking with narrowed eyes at the spilled coffee grounds and open bag of sugar.

“Oh. At least eight.”

“Have you eaten a whole jar of Nutella in one sitting?”

Draco hid the spoon behind his back. “No!”

Potter arched an eyebrow. “You have chocolate on your lip.”

“Not the whole thing! Besides, it wasn’t completely full to start with!”

“Draco that’s—I have no words. Even Scorpius wouldn’t dream of—”

“I have problems,” Draco pouted. “I’m stuck in a time I don’t belong in. Don’t judge me.”

“The ‘I have problems’ excuse, eh?” Potter laughed deeply. “You’re lucky you’re so damn pretty, you know that.”

Draco’s face heated up. “You shouldn’t keep saying things like that.” He knew he sounded like a petulant child but he was too hyped up on caffeine and sugar to care.

“Well you shouldn’t be drinking eight coffees on the trot and eating Nutella with a spoon. It’s not good for you, Draco. You’re normally such a health freak.”

“Ugh, just another older person trying to interfere in my life. I’ve had enough of that bollocks.”

“Okay. One, _you’re_ older than _me_. Two, we’re boyfriends, we get involved in each other’s lives, that’s what boyfriends do. And three, fuck, I’m sorry you’ve had people messing around in your life. I can totally relate to that, believe me, and I remember how hard sixth year was for you.”

After a moment’s reflection Draco said, “Yeah, it has been pretty rubbish this year. I’m only just realising quite how fucked up it was.” He huffed a breath. “I apologise for eating all the Nutella. I guess it’s a little dull being in the house without you and Scorpius, I needed some stimulants.”

“Well I’m glad to hear you find me stimulating.” Potter’s eyebrow had arched up again.

The blush rose on Draco’s cheeks again.

“Alright,” smiled Potter, “do you want to show me what you’ve found?”

“Okay. I mean Bill and, er, Granger, will likely have figured this stuff straight away, but I thought it was no harm my taking a look while I had the time. I’m sure they’re both very busy people.”

“Yeah, yeah, go on. And you can call her Hermione, you’re on first name terms now. Having said that, normally you call me Harry, so uh—”

Draco cleared his throat to cut Harry off. He wasn’t quite ready for that level of familiarity. Calling Potter _Harry_? He was certain the name would just stick in his gizzard and refuse to come out.

He went through his findings on the physical and healing properties of topaz, and what he’d cross-referenced with a few books in Harry’s study. He explained how magic interacted with the prismatic crystal structure of the stone and how various potions ingredients would react with the silicate properties.

Potter’s mouth dropped open as Draco quite clearly demonstrated how it would _not_ be possible for the gemstone to be cursed in such a way as to affect a person’s memory.

“Draco, are you sure your memory’s not coming back? This is properly good research. Let’s send a text to Bill and Hermione to update them.”

Draco wrote out a message to Bill, with Potter’s help and some swearing at autocorrect. He pressed send just as Penny came scuttling into the room and leapt up into Draco’s lap. She buried her snout into the crook of Draco’s elbow and it was then he noticed she was shaking quite badly.

“Potter, why is Penny trembling like this?”

“Oh, she’s shivering. She gets pretty cold in the winter. Nifflers are used to living way underground where it’s cool in the summer and warm in the winter, so it can be difficult for them to regulate their temperature above ground. Which is why Penny loves burrowing into people’s laps and cuddling into their chests.”

“Well that’s no good.” Draco wrapped his cashmere cardigan round the trembling creature. “Looks like you could do with being warmed up, you silly little thing.”

Harry’s lips quirked and he had that absurd fond look in his eyes again. Draco pretended not to see and cleared his throat, “I guess I’ll still have Penny around when you and Scorpius are out. Things won’t get too dull.”

“Yeah. You _can_ go out you know, you’re not a prisoner here. Hey, have you thought about contacting your mum?”

“Yes,” Draco hesitated, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask about her... and Father, but I suppose part of me was afraid to find out.”

“Alright. Your Father is in Azkaban, has been since the war; you and he don’t speak at all. But your Mother’s still at the Manor.”

Draco was glad they were both alive, but was surprised to feel indifferent about his father being in prison. He should be upset, instead he felt detached from his feelings completely.

“I’d dearly love to see Mother. Is she well? Do I visit often? Do—” he paused, “do all three of us visit?”

“Well, not really. Not as often as I’d have expected. You’ve been a few times since we moved in together, but not loads.” He looked thoughtful. “Maybe you used to go more before, when Scorpius was a baby. You... you don’t usually want to talk about it actually so honestly I’m not quite sure why it’s tailed off. And yes, she’s well I believe, at least, last I heard.”

“Can l send her an owl, or does she have a Muggle phone? Good Godric, what am I saying, she’s hardly likely—”

“No, I don’t reckon she does have a phone,” Potter smiled, “but, um, you’ll have to go to the Owl Post Office I’m afraid, I don’t have an owl.”

“Oh, alright.” Draco frowned. “No owl? What happened to that fabulous snowy owl you used to have? Merlin, I was so envious of your owl, she was gorgeous. Er, I mean—” _Shit, why I am telling him that?_

“Hedwig. She...she died. She got hit by a Killing curse meant for me.”

“Oh Potter, that’s terrible, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, I have had other owls since, but the last one, Delbert, broke a wing. He was very old, and I just haven't had time to replace him.”

Potter provided a quill and parchment and Draco wrote out a quick note requesting a visit. He found it challenging, not knowing the exact nature of their current relationship, so he played it safe by keeping it polite, friendly and medium-formal. Following Potter’s directions he found himself at _The Mad Hatter’s,_ a rundown milliner’s shopfront, and was able to gain entry to the local Owl Post Office by pressing his wand tip to the doorbell.

The next morning, a very familiar eagle owl tapped at the window and delivered a reply from his mother, inviting him and Scorpius to elevenses on Saturday morning.

Draco felt restless with anticipation to see Mother again, if a little nervous. He’d not seen her since he’d waved goodbye at King’s Cross in September. She’d be different now he reminded himself. He was anxious, knowing he would have to tell her that he had no memory of all that had gone on in last fifteen years. He would have Scorpius with him though, and that thought made him unaccountably glad.


	10. Nunchi

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354763713773578/25_days_16_zpsqvmoqdxt.jpg)

**Nunchi**. Korean. n. _The subtle, often unnoticed art of listening and gauging another’s mood._

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey!”

“What the actual fuck Potter? Do you think you’re being funny with that asinine wake-up call? What sort of person bellows into a room at someone who’s sleeping peacefully?”

But Merlin, Draco could forgive him for it, the smells wafting into the bedroom were amazing.

“Sleeping peacefully, yes, and all thanks to me. You had another nightmare, but don’t worry, I was all hands to the deck. Gave you the old ‘wax on, wax off’ treatment and you calmed right down.”

Draco shook his head. He was too embarrassed and unsettled to ask what Potter meant by the wax thing.

* * *

The breakfast was indeed delicious and helped calm his nerves about meeting Mother. At quarter to eleven he donned a set of blue robes and helped Scorpius button up his green ones. Grabbing the bouquet of flowers they’d picked from the back garden the day before, he Apparated them to the Manor.

He had expected Mother to look different, and she did—the silver and grey in her hair was much more prominent, her skin on her neck and face was thinner and and more lined, and the way she carried herself hinted at some underlying ache or pain—but when he met her eyes on the steps of the Manor Draco saw the same noble caring woman, and to him she looked barely a day older than when he last saw her.

“Draco, Scorpius, darlings, it's so marvellous to see you.” There was relief on her face, making Draco curious.

He took her proffered hand and kissed it. She still smelled of lemon verbena soap like he remembered. “Mother, so wonderful to be here. Thank you for inviting us.”

Scorpius grabbed her leg and Draco pried him off, “Give Nana a kiss, Scorp.”

Narcissa bent down and Scorpius grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her cheek. “Let's get in out of the cold, little man,” she chuckled.

Once inside Scorpius shoved the flowers at Narcissa, a few white petals drifting to the marble floor as he did so. “I picked them special for you, Nana. Papa showed me which ones, and I picked five of each, ‘cause I’m five, and five is the best number.”

“Oh, how kind of you, sweetheart. Five is an auspicious number, to be sure. They’re beautiful.” She smelled each flower in turn. “ _Paperwhite narcissi_ , you know I love those, they signify sweet affection; and five lovely _hellebores_ , Christmas roses, which symbolise relief from anxious times; and such pretty _convolvulus_ , or morning glory, symbolising uncertainty and seeking support. Oh.” She furrowed her brow. “Draco, is something the matter?” She turned to look at him.

Draco had known his mother would pick up on the meaning of the flowers. “Well, I do have some unusual news, actually.”

“Come through to the drawing room and you can tell me all about it. Mimsy has set up the refreshments. Scorpius, would you like some cordial and a Jammie Dodger? I remember you telling me they were your favourites, so I had Mimsy source some at the village.”

Draco sipped his late-harvest Darjeeling tea and eyed Scorpius’s Jammie Dodger with envy. His lemon and lavender biscuit, while flavoursome, was sadly neither sticky nor jammy.

As Scorpius lay on his tummy and looked through the picture books Narcissa had laid out for him, Draco explained what had happened the week before and how he had awoken with significant memory loss. His mother listened attentively throughout but he could see the worry in her eyes.

“So you’re just waiting to hear back from St Mungo’s and from your colleagues at the Ministry?”

“Yes, although Potter doesn't hold out much hope for the Healers figuring it out. He was quite cross—”

“Potter? I thought you had dropped that surname thing ages ago. Oh, well, of course, you won’t remember...”

Draco swallowed. “No. And that’s just it. I don’t remember us either, Mother. Save for our relationship when I was in school. Potter said we… we don’t see each other all that often.”

He eyed her as she fiddled with the lace on her cuffs. She shifted her weight in her chair and cleared her throat. _She’s uncomfortable. Is it guilt?_

“Potter—Harry is right, sadly. I...We didn’t see eye to eye on a number of things and...” she quavered, “I suppose we let a few small quarrels and items of contention come between us. You still visited, of course, but I believe it was out of duty more than anything.”

She looked into her lap, still worrying at the lace cuff. She seemed ashamed. Now, Draco could see more clearly how she had aged. How could he have let their relationship run aground? He wondered how much he could push her.

“Items of contention?”

She looked at him with shining eyes. “Things started to become difficult after the war. You refused to visit your father after he was sent back to Azkaban. You… you had your reasons, of course. But it was the beginning of our differences of opinion.”

The regret on her face was difficult to bear. Draco put his tea down and reached his hand for hers. “Oh, Mother.”

She moved her hand away. “Let me—Just let me finish.”

Draco nodded.

“Your father, as you know held...still holds very firm beliefs about pureblood status, and you had already begun to question a lot of his ideals. You two had a big falling out during the time the Dark—” she paused, “—when _Voldemort_ was staying here.” Draco flinched at the word, as if burned. “He said a lot of things that hurt you. Things about your… relationship preferences, about loyalty and continuing the line. I spent many months trying to get you to visit him, reconcile with him.”

_So his father disapproved of him being homosexual? That was—ugh—well it wasn’t surprising._

“We had arranged a betrothal for you with the younger daughter of Leopold and Elladora Greengrass. You resisted for a long time, but I fear I wore you down... you felt obliged. It was was wrong of me of course, I see that now… to force you to—”

“But we have Scorpius now. So surely it was worth doing.” He glanced at the boy, engrossed in a book, and dropping crumbs on the carpet.

“Yes. Yes we do. Of course. But you resented me for so long, Draco, and rightly so. I begged you to come live at the Manor when Astoria died, but you declined. You stopped coming to visit quite as much. It wasn’t until you and Harry started courting that I got to see you more frequently, I think due to his influence, but—”

She looked uneasy, her eyes pleading.

“Go on,” Draco said gently.

“Sorry darling, this is a little difficult for me, I haven’t spoken so openly with you in a long time. I... I think you never brought Harry to visit because you think I disapprove of your relationship. And I want you to know that’s not the case. Not at all. He makes you happy, I can see that. And I want to get to know him too.” Her eyes were shining. “If you’ll let me.”

“Mother, I think this is the perfect opportunity for us to put the past behind us.” Draco grasped her hands and smiled widely, “In fact,” he scrunched up his face in faux-confusion, “I do believe I’ve forgotten our past already.”

Narcissa chuckled. “While I will wholeheartedly accept this reconciliation of sorts, I’m a little apprehensive that you may feel differently once your memories return.”

“Ah, well I’ve made a little pact to be even better than my other self in every way, call it Slytherin competitiveness if you like, and I mean to see that I uphold it.”

Suddenly there was a yelp and a loud bang. They both turned around to see Scorpius lying on the ground under a pile of knitwear and some balls of wool, the rosewood card table knocked over beside him.

“Scorpius, are you alright?” They ran to him.

Scorpius got to his feet straight away laughing, and knocking aside all the knitted garments.

“He’s alright,” said Draco, “Scorpius, I told you not meddle with Nana’s things.”

“Oh he’s fine, Draco, don’t fuss,” Narcissa said, swiping her wand in the air to tidy all the things back into the basket and set the card table back in its place.

“What are all those woollen things, Mother?’ asked Draco.

“Oh, they’re little cardigans, boleros and booties I’ve been knitting for the village playgroup.”

“Knitting?”

“Yes,” she laughed, “I’ve taken it up again. I actually made a few for Scorpius when he was tiny. And I don’t know if you remember, you and I used to knit little sweaters for Orion, bless him. You probably don’t, you were only a child.”

But Draco did remember, for to him it was a mere seven or eight years ago. He remembered sitting with his mother in the drawing room, in the afternoons, following the knitting pattern, ensuring to get the holes in the right places for Orion’s little neck and paws. He’d quite enjoyed it at the time.

An idea started forming in Draco’s mind.

“Mother. Can you recommend where I could buy some wool... it would need to be high quality and quite durable?”

Narcissa laughed, “Why certainly, I’d be delighted. Whatever for, Draco?”

“A little Christmas gift idea I’m hatching for someone special.”

“Oh, how lovely. Well darling, Bobbin and Heddle’s in Diagon Alley sells _the_ best wool in the world so I’m positive you’ll find exactly what you need there.”

Draco thanked her and she poured them more tea.

A little later, and after yet more tea and biscuits—Draco even managed to snag a Jammie Dodger while Mother wasn’t looking—they bid their goodbyes and made to leave. As they walked through the entrance hall, they passed the Christmas tree and stopped to admire it, Draco lifting Scorpius up on his shoulders so he could see the star on the top.

Draco’s eye was caught by a familiar sparkling heart-shaped ornament. It was the one he’d bought for Mother in fifth year and charmed before giving her.

He’d been so proud of that charmwork, which he’d had plenty of practice on in fourth year with the ‘Potter Stinks’ badges. He wondered if it still worked. He pressed the centre of heart and gold lettering magically appeared: _Amor matris vincere semper,_ ‘Mother’s love will always conquer’, a nod to the Malfoy family motto. He felt a little choked up that she still had it, and the message contained within gave him confidence that he had done the right thing today.

That evening while Scorpius and the Potter kids slept, Draco ran Potter through what had happened at the Manor and what Mother had told him. He didn't hesitate this time when Potter offered a hug, and took comfort in the reassuring _rightness_ of how it felt.

Draco didn’t have any nightmares that night, but let Potter drape his arm around him nevertheless.


	11. Meraki

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354828427689996/25_days_3_zpsclsipjfk.jpg)

**Meraki**. Greek. Adj. _Pouring yourself wholeheartedly into something, and doing so with soul, creativity and love._

The next day Potter kindly offered to look after the four children while Draco went to Diagon Alley in search of the wool shop. He left as Potter was setting up something called a _deevy-dee_ to entertain them.

Draco couldn't see that Diagon Alley had changed all that much in fifteen years, a few new shops, perhaps. After several minutes strolling along the streets admiring the Christmas window displays, he did realise the atmosphere felt different to when he'd visited in his school days, it was lighter somehow. But was it Diagon or was it _him_? When he thought about it, there had been a growing cloud of darkness in his heart in the last couple of years which he realised now was beginning to disperse and allow a little light through.

He passed the entrance to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and examined the colourful display. He'd always been secretly impressed with the Weasley twins’ ambitious pranks and inventive charmwork. He recalled what Potter had said about Fred and felt a pang of pity for George, it must be so hard to live without your other half.

A few doors down was the shop he was looking for. The sign said: _Bobbin and Heddle's Fine Yarns: Purveyors of The Best Wool In The World™_. Mother hadn't been exaggerating then, he chuckled to himself. The window was filled with spools of various coloured and textured threads, yarns, and wools, interspersed with knitted rabbits, chunky argyle socks and fine shimmering pashminas.

He pushed the door open and the bell tinkled.

“Good morning, sir, how can I help?” a lady in a lime green mohair jumper-dress and snowman earrings called brightly.

“Good morning. I’m looking for some wool, particularly durable, for an animal jumper.” Draco had decided to knit Penny a little pullover to keep her warm. She'd been shivering a lot lately and he couldn't bear it.

“I'm certain we have just the thing,” the lady said. “I've not seen you in here before, I’m Jenny Heddle, one of the owners.” She stuck out her hand and Draco shook it. “There are usually two of us here but Calico is out at one of the suppliers today in the Shetlands.

“Delighted. I'm Draco Malfoy.”

“Oh! You must be Narcissa’s son. She's a regular customer. Such a _super_ lady!” Jenny said, drawing out the ‘oo’ in ‘super’. “Alrighty, wool for an animal jumper. Now Muggles tend to go for Acrylic yarn for wear and washability, however us wizards have access to Puffskein fur, shorn at Beltane, carded and spun into the softest, most durable wool you’ll find; waterproof and washable. Plus the magical properties in the fur promote happiness, so you'll find your pet’s temperament consistently agreeable. And it comes in six natural colours, although dyed is also available, of course.”

She pointed out the shelf with the Puffskein wool, and Draco ran his fingers over the soft yarn. He hadn't thought about what colour he wanted. He picked up the one that appealed to him most, it was a lovely russet colour. The label read _Feuillemort_. Draco knew a fair bit of French and knew that meant the colour of a fading fallen autumn leaf. To him the wool was more the tarnished coppery colour of a knut—and similarly a penny, as Scorpius had showed him—and therefore perfect.

Draco bought three balls of the penny-coloured wool and one cream coloured one, plus two knitting needles, thanked Ms Heddle, promised to pass on her regards to his mother, and then left the shop.

As he walked back down the street, a book in the window of Msaw Ætare, a shop on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley, caught his eye. It was black leather bound book and the title read _Most Eerie Curses, Enchantments, and Maledictions: Little Known Spells for Love, Wealth, Control and Power._ He went in and flicked through the book. Sure enough, it was all about obscure curses. He imagined his curse-breaker self knew this stuff inside out, so in the spirit of besting himself, he wanted to try to at least catch up. He paid for the book and left.

Browsing some of the pop-up market stalls, Draco pondered buying a Christmas gift for Scorpius, however it was difficult to know what to choose for someone you'd only known for a week and a half. He _could_ ask Potter for advice, of course.

And that brought him neatly on to the confusing topic of Potter, who had been thoroughly decent towards him thus far, if somewhat maddening at times, and distractingly fit. _Oh shut up,_ he told himself, though he was finding it harder and harder to remember why fancying Potter was a bad idea.

Draco supposed he should get the bloke a Christmas present. Merlin, despite obsessing over Potter for the past five and a half years, he was at a loss as to what he might like. It had never occurred to him to pay attention to what might make him happy, only to what would rile him up. All he could think of was Quidditch and treacle tart, which was less than helpful for a thirty-one year old man. He needed a gift that said “I appreciate you, but I’m not sure about the boyfriend thing, and especially not sure about the shagging part.” How difficult could that be? He still had time though, and if his memory was restored before Christmas, he’d likely know exactly what to buy him, and all this vacillation would be irrelevant.

Once home, he spent a fun couple of hours with children, where he was regaled with tales of the film they'd watched—something about one of Father Christmas's house elves stranded in New York as far as he could tell. Why he didn’t just Apparate back to the North Pole Draco couldn’t figure out, surely everyone knew how powerful elf magic was.

Later that evening, after measuring Penny, he consulted Google for an appropriately sized knitting pattern. He eventually found one for a chihuahua that would suffice, and he could always transfigure any bits that were too loose or tight. He selected a cute pattern that would be adorable on the little niffler.

He cast on and began to knit, fingers awkward and slow.

After a few dropped stitches, which he had to rack his brain to remember how to pick up, it started to come back to him, and he settled into a rhythm and pace. Before long he had knit several rows as a test piece, and he decided to get a little creative and add a line of the cream coloured wool. He tried out different options on the test piece and when happy, he pulled it off the needles and set it aside.

Having made a decision, he cast on again and started on the first section of the jumper. He threw himself into it wholeheartedly and by the time Potter came in with a mug of tea and a mince pie for him, Draco’s fingers were moving rapidly in an exact routine, needles clacking. He glanced up when the tea was placed in front of him and noticed that Potter staring at him, eyes dark.

“You’ve always had such deft fingers,” he said reverently. “What are you knitting?”

_Always had deft fingers? What on earth does he mean by that?_

“It’s a surprise, well sort of an experiment. I’ll tell you when I’m sure it’s going to work out.”

“If I know you Draco, and I’m pretty sure I do, it’ll work out perfectly. You always give all of yourself to everything you do; you don’t know _how_ to do things by halves. It’ll turn out wicked.”

For a few momentsDraco couldn’t breathe. Something was dawning on him, and it was so glaring that he didn’t understand why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner:

Harry Potter _knows_ me. Harry Potter _admires_ me. Harry Potter _likes_ me.


	12. Sceitimíní

Prompt pic: [ ](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354869670019084/done_17_zpsyy8xlkem.jpg)

**Sceitimíní.** Irish. n _. Excited feelings, fits of rapturous excitement_

Draco awoke feeling excited and tingly. It was Monday morning, nothing special planned, so why was he feeling so—?

_Ah_.

Potter’s arm was draped over him, hand pressed against his crotch—and Draco’s cock was embarrassingly hard. Draco froze, surveying the situation. It felt intimate, exciting, nerve-wracking, and pretty fucking good.

_Merlin. Maybe... No. NO._

He shoved Potter gently, but instead of him moving away Potter’s hand just flexed and squeezed his dick.

_Ahhh, shit._

He shook Potter’s arm trying to free it, but that just exerted more delicious friction. He felt hot all over.

_Oh Salazar, this needs to stop before… Pull yourself together, Draco._

“Potter!”

“Mmmpf?” Potter uttered into the pillow.

“Wakey, wakey, _hands off snakey_!” Draco snapped.

Harry looked down to Draco's bulging pyjamas covered by his hand.

“Well good _morning_ ,” he grinned sleepily. “I gotta say, Draco, snakey seems _pretty_ interested. Yep... mmm.” He palmed Draco's cock slowly, ever so slowly, and sweet Merlin, it felt—

“Oh sod off!” Draco exclaimed, jumping up. “It's merely a morning erection, perfectly normal, thank you. Don't get ideas.”

But Draco had ideas. A lot of ideas. He wanted to, he knew Potter wanted to, so what the fuck was stopping him?

He had been trying not to think about his growing attraction to Potter, and had purposefully not asked yet about their relationship. Inevitably he would have to. It was unavoidable, but he was afraid to find out more.

Potter sat up. “Yeah sorry, you’re right. Fuck, it just seems so unnatural not to be able to touch you. But it’s fine, it won’t be much longer hopefully. I’m sure we’ll hear from St Mungo’s soon.”

Not much longer. Draco could wait, had to wait. It all just seemed too impossible right now. Things would be so much better once he remembered everything. All the memories and feelings would make it okay, make it _right_. They had to. He couldn't go on like this.

He strode off to the shower and dealt with his arousal in short efficient strokes under the scalding spray, grunting as his come streaked across the tiled wall. At least _that_ was something pitifully familiar from his Hogwarts days.

* * *

After breakfast, Draco continued with his knitting. He hummed as he went and it helped him to keep a rhythm going. He was excited about the pattern he was knitting, and happy with the way it was turning out so far.

He must have started singing at one point, as Potter called in from the kitchen: “Draco, if you don’t stop singing Poker Face, I’m gonna come and poke _you_ in the sodding face.”

“It’s a sight better than that Thong song you’ve just been murdering.”

Potter laughed loudly, shouted “Point!”, and got on with spooning batter into muffin tins.

Over mid-morning coffee and a banana muffin, Draco asked Potter if he had any ideas for what to buy Scorpius for Christmas.

“I know, why don’t we get Scorpius to do his letter to Father Christmas this afternoon. Then we’ll have a list of everything he wants.”

“That, Potter, is ingenious.”

Draco remembered writing such lists as a child, assuming they were going straight to Father Christmas’ workshop, requesting the latest toy broomsticks, fanged frisbees or a set of solid gold gobstones. When he later discovered it was just his parents buying him everything he wanted, it made a lot more sense as to why he received so many more gifts than anyone else he knew.

After lunch, Draco had a chance to look through the book he’d bought on curses. As well as containing details on spells and curses, it also had interesting photos and case studies peppered throughout. He spotted there was a whole section on memory curses, and flicked ahead to read it. He learned that there had been a wizard in Hull who had been cursed to remember only things that happened on a Wednesday, and a witch in Lancashire who’d encountered a curse that caused her head to be filled with all the memories of any one who touched her. Her head had become so filled with random confusing memories that she ended up in the Janus Thickey ward.

Draco found it all fascinating. He was beginning to realise what must have attracted him to the curse-breaking role. He absorbed himself in the book’s pages for several hours, pausing only to sip tea and munch on some warm Dutch speculaas cookies that Potter had baked that afternoon.

For dinner they had Potter’s favourite: takeaway pizza from the local Pizza Express. He seemed inordinately delighted about a boring looking pepperoni pizza.

“Ah, but it’s the American Hot pizza and I asked for extra jalapeños! _Ándale, ándale, arriba_!” Fucking hell, Potter’s excitement was catching, and Draco couldn't help laughing.

Potter sliced up a Margherita with extra cheese for Scorpius, and then put Draco’s pizza on a plate.

“What’s mine?” Draco curled his lip, looking at the brown mystery meat scattered on it and smothered in melting cheese.

“I ordered what you normally have. The Sloppy Giuseppe,” Harry grinned.

“That sounds totally disgusting.”

But it smelled amazing, so Draco dug in. And Merlin, it tasted fucking incredible. Hot spiced beef, sweet red onion, juicy peppers and lashings of mozzarella. He polished the whole thing off before Potter and Scorpius had even got halfway through theirs, although they did have to stop to clear up the orange juice that Scorpius had knocked on the floor.

After they’d all finished, Scorpius got up and walked across the kitchen tiles. He lifted his feet to examine the underside. “Why the bottoms of my slippers all sticky?”

“It might have something to do with the juice you spilled on the floor a few minutes ago,” said Draco.

He took a few more tacky steps and grinned. “I like sticky.” He pranced about delightedly in a noisy sticky circle.

“Oh, hey Scorp,” Draco said, “Tonight’s the night to write your letter to Father Christmas.”

“Yaaayyyyyy!” Scorpius cried, leaping up and down like a crazed crup. “My letter, my letter!” He ran over to Draco and leaped into his lap, hugging him tightly, still jiggling about in excitement.

“Steady on,” Draco laughed, “Right mister, you’ve been learning to write with Mrs Dowling at school. You know all the letters and sounds. There’s some parchment and crayons in the sitting room. Why don’t you try writing your letter and call me if you need any help?”

Twenty minutes later Scorpius was back with five sheets of parchment covered in large purple lettering. Draco picked up the sheaf and started reading.

> _Deer Faver Crismiss_
> 
> _Furst I need to esplain to you that I hav a new house sins last crismiss. My papa luvs Daddy Harry very very mutch and now we liv in Daddy Harrys house and I luv my Papa and I luv my daddy harry and Penny Pocket too and Albie wen he comes to play. I hope you and yore raindeers can find my new house you should spot it coz it has a black dore. daddy Harry sez it is a grim old plaice but i fink it is the best. I hav been a gud boy this yeer, even i helped tidy my room and dident get cross wen lily ate my biskit yesterday. I wud like for crismuss pleez a Dora lunch box and a Dora bakpak and a ~~ballamori~~ Balamory book or dvd or game and most of all i wud like for crismuss for my Papa to rumember all the fings he forgot so he can be happy agen. He lucked after me sins i was a baby and is the kindest papa in the hole wild wurld. I will leeve a carrot for Rudolf and a mins pie for you wat Daddy harry made. They are so yummy._
> 
> _Luv Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. 5 yeers old xxxxx_

Emotion overcame Draco, and he cuddled Scorpius for a long long time, unable to speak.

“Can you fix my spellings with your wand, Papa? I fink I spelled backpack wrong,” Scorpius asked, eventually.

Draco swallowed audibly. “It’s perfect Scorpius, every word. Father Christmas will love it.”

* * *

Potter put Scorpius to bed and Draco took the opportunity to look through some of the photos on his smartphone. The Healer had suggested it as a possible way to jog memories and Potter had shown him where they were stored, but Draco had been putting it off. Up until now he hadn’t _wanted_ to be reminded how much he’d missed out on.

It had been strange enough seeing photos of their ‘happy family’ on the walls around the house, waving back at them in various candid situations. He had been particularly perturbed by one where Potter was ruffling his hair and he was blushing like a schoolgirl at her first Yule Ball. Such public displays of affection were jarring to him as a Malfoy. He had been brought up to expect propriety and formality in a family photograph, it was to be part of one’s _legacy,_ for Merlin’s sake. So he’d been reluctant to search for any more such examples.

However, despite Draco’s misgivings about the contents of his phone, Scorpius’ letter had prompted him to seek more pictures of the boy when he was younger, and well, if he saw the odd photo of him and Potter, so be it.

Clicking into the gallery the first thing he noticed was a folder of photos entitled 'BAE XXX' but he was unable to access it; it seemed to be requiring some sort of written spell to open. _Odd_. He tried typing _Alohomora_ but his phone informed him that was incorrect.

He skipped past that and scrolled down. He was instantly bombarded with hundreds of colourful photos—all eerily still—of Potter and Scorpius, Potter and him, Potter and all the children, and the occasional one of Potter and him, selfie style. He enlarged a recent one of Potter and him laughing, both wearing Halloween pyjamas and plastic devil’s horns and holding a butterbeer each. It was taken on the very sofa he was sitting on now, he realised. The happy carefree expressions on both their faces were hard to ignore. He’d never seen a photo of himself looking like that—so relaxed and jolly.

Draco forgot for several minutes that he was meant to be looking for photos of Scorpius and searched for more of him and Potter. Sure enough he found more examples of him and Potter laughing, him and Potter smiling goofily, him and Potter pulling faces at each other, and _Merlin_ , there was even one of Potter kissing his cheek and he was taken aback by how bright with happiness and love photo-Draco’s eyes were.

He put the phone down on the coffee table and took a few deep breaths. He was slowly beginning to wonder if Potter and him might not be an impossibility after all.


	13. Kabelsalat

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354917044944896/25_days_12_zps6ziwk2ho.jpg)

**Kabelsalat**. German. n. _A word to describe a mess of very tangled cables, literally meaning ‘cable-salad’._

Tuesday morning saw Potter off at the joke shop again, and Draco at a loss for something to do. Potter had offered for him to come along and help out but he couldn't face dealing with two more Weasleys, he’d already suffered two in the space of a week, although, in fairness, Bill had been pretty decent.

Thinking about Bill, he pulled out the copy of the notes that he'd compiled about the five cursed items.

He read through the information on the Thai amulet. His previous internet searching had told him about the various necromantic beliefs Thai's held in relation to the bones of spirit children in amulets. The notes he had in front of him contained detailed information about the physical makeup of the amulet.

He thought back to what he’d read about memory curses the day before: they needed to be held within a solid stable structure to retain their effectiveness. The amulet they’d been working on contained powdered bones suspended in Prai oil and sealed in a waterproof plastic casing, which had a small hole in it so it could be suspended from a chain. He wondered whether the plastic casing would hold the incantation sufficiently or not, because the oil and powder mix surely wouldn't.

He sent Bill a quick text to ask, and received a near instant reply merely consisting of small yellow thinking face. Draco wasn’t _au fait_ with the social mores of text messaging but it seemed a little discourteous not to write any words at all in a reply. He chalked it up to the Weasleys' typical lack of refinement, and while he was still pondering the question of pureblood gentility, his phone lit up and started blasting “ _Ra ra, ah-ah-ah! Ro ma, ro-ma-ma_ , _Gaga, oh-la-la!_ ” causing him to leap up off the sofa.

Once he’d picked his phone up from the floor, his phone screen informed him there was an ‘Incoming Call from Bill’ and he frantically pressed buttons and jabbed at the screen trying to answer it while it blared away. Coincidence, he managed to think during his panic, that 2011 Draco also likes Lady Gaga. Just then the phone silenced and he heard two beeps.

A message from Bill: _Swipe to answer you muppet,_ and a little yellow face that appeared to be both laughing and crying at the same time.

“Alright mate?” Bill laughed, when Draco finally managed to answer the call. “Thanks for your question. Yeah, no, it’s highly unlikely that a memory curse would be properly retained in an amulet like that, great thinking.”

“Well that’s good. So, what does that leave us with? How far have you got with the other objects?”

“Okay, let’s see. We’ve ruled out the crystal squirrel, thanks to your research the other day. So not the amulet or the squirrel. The dildo has been tested and doesn't show traces of your DNA.”

“DNA?” Draco queried.

“It’s the Muggle way to test if there are any, er, _bodily substances_ on it.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco shuddered.

“We had another look at the necklace. The amethyst contained a powerful curse which I managed to disable. Turned out to be a sort of hybrid version of the Cruciatus curse and a stupefying charm which, like we suspected, is purely to cause extreme pain and suffering to the victim.”

“So couldn't cause the amnesia?”

“Nope. So that only leaves us with the cursed ring. Hermione did some digging and it turns out the original owner, Amabel Rosier, had Middle Eastern ancestry on her mother Fatima’s side, hence the Arabic engravings. Of even more interest is that Amabel was married to Roderick Lestrange, and became the mother of two sons you may well have heard of: Rodolphus and Rabastan.”

Draco inhaled sharply through his nose. “Death Eaters. One’s married to my Aunt Bella.”

“ _Was_ married. Rodolphus and Bellatrix were both killed in the war and Rabastan is incarcerated in Azkaban.”

His aunt. _Dead_. He should feel something. Loss? _Something_. Surely.

“...and eventually the ring found its way to Borgin and Burke’s and Kenneth in research got wind of it so it was confiscated by the Ministry.”

“So how did we know it belonged to Amabel?”

“Her name was engraved on the inside of it. Oh, that reminds me, I have Kenneth and Madge trying to puzzle out the Arabic inscription, hang on ‘til I grab the translation. Okay, so it says: _Cast back to first seeds, dispatch what succeeds._ Bit cryptic.”

“ _Cast back to first seeds_... you know, that sounds familiar. I was reading a book yesterday and came across a phrase a bit like that in the section on memory curses. Let me look it up and get back to you.”

“Memory curses? Brilliant, yeah let us know what you find.”

* * *

Later, when Potter returned home, he showed Draco how to photograph the relevant section in the book and send it to Bill. Potter was delighted at the progress they were making with the curses, and it seemed to put him in high spirits.

They had Irish stew for dinner, which Draco helped prepare. While he chopped onions, he avoided staring at Potter’s thick fingers as he dredged chunks of lamb in seasoned flour. And while he stripped some thyme sprigs, he tried his utmost to keep from glancing at Potter’s jeans-clad arse jerking about in time to his tuneless singing. He was quite certain his ears did _not_ turn pink when Potter praised his carrot peeling skills. And he would deny to the grave that he joined in on the chorus of ‘ _It’s gettin’ hot in here_ ’, because, Merlin, _that_ would be undignified.

Scorpius had been in a fractious mood all afternoon and proclaimed at dinner that the stew was ‘yucky’. Potter reminded him that he’d eaten it several times before and liked it. When that didn’t persuade him Potter added that Papa had helped to make it so it was extra yummy this time.

Scorpius pouted and cried, “If it’s so yummy, you eat it!” He swiped the bowl across the table towards Potter, its piping hot contents sloshing right out and all over Potter’s stomach and lap.

Potter jumped up and Draco zapped a quick cooling charm at his crotch causing him to gasp.

“Er, thanks,” Potter blushed.

Draco turned to Scorpius. “Young man, that was unacceptable behaviour. You will apologise to Pot—to Harry, right now.” Draco felt awkward saying Potter’s first name, but he couldn’t very well refer to him as Potter in front of Scorpius.

“No!” Scorpius made a show of folding his arms across his chest.

“In that case, you can go straight to bed without dinner.”

Scorpius yowled in protest.

“Papa’s right. You’re clearly overtired and that’s put you in a strop,” said Potter. “I think bed would be the best thing.”

“ _Not_ tired, don’t _wanna_ go bed,” Scorpius whined, slamming his fists on the table. He was very clearly tired.

“I’ll take him,” Draco said. “You get cleaned up.”

After some patience and cuddles, Scorpius calmed down and told his papa how Charles in his class was six and had told him that five was a baby number, and had also told him he was weird for having two daddies. Draco's heart broke to hear that and, as he Accio'd Scorpius a couple of crackers for his rumbling tummy, he assured him that having two daddies, especially one as spectacular as Daddy Harry, meant that he was the luckiest little wizard on the planet and that this Charles fellow was just undeniably jealous. Scorpius nodded and gave Draco a watery smile. Seconds later he was asleep.

Draco padded downstairs and into kitchen resolving to speak to Scorpius’ teacher about this Charles boy. The kitchen was empty, and their unfinished bowls of stew were still on the table. He heard a grunt from the sitting room and went to investigate. He was met with the startling sight of Potter in nothing but his pants, all tangled up in fairy lights. The dolt was hopping from one foot to another and pulling on the cable, which just caused it to further tighten around him.

“Draco!” Potter had spotted him in the doorway. “A little help?”

Draco walked towards him. Salazar, the man was in good shape. The way his arm and leg muscles swelled and rippled as he contorted himself trying to get disentangled was quite captivating.

Draco cleared his throat. “Oh, this is too funny.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “I cannot begin to imagine what sequence of events has led to this scenario, but—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I was upstairs getting changed and heard a ruckus downstairs. I ran down to find Penny had pulled down the sodding christmas tree; trying to get at the shiny ornaments no doubt, the little scallywag. I managed to get the tree back up but the lights have, ah, caused me some trouble,” he struck a pose and did ‘jazz hands’, “as you can see.”

As Potter posed Draco’s eyes were drawn to the front of his pants and the shadowed outline of what lay nestled within. He sucked in a breath and determinedly fixed his gaze on Potter’s face.

“You know, I would help, but making fun of you is so much more satisfying.”

Potter smirked. “Judging by your blush, that’s not the only thing you find satisfying.”

“Good grief, Potter. You are so artless. Very well, let me help.” He examined Potter for a second and located the end of the cable. “You see, your problem is you’re trying to move your body to extract yourself from the lights, when what you need to do is keep your body quite still while you manipulate the lights… Like so.”

Potter held still while Draco began to unwind the string of fairy lights. Every now and then Potter giggled or shivered as Draco touched his skin in order to thread the cable under itself, and Draco found himself giggling too at Potter’s girlish reactions. At this proximity he could smell Potter’s clean appley skin, with just a lingering hint of lamb stew. It was a refreshing and reassuring smell, and somehow made the task feel that more intimate.

After another minute of Potter squirming and Draco snorting, “Keep still!” Potter was finally free. Draco smiled and passed the bundle of lights to Potter.

“Word of advice, Potter. Use magical fairy lights next year, rather than these diabolical Muggle ones.”

“On this occasion, Draco, I’ll concede you’ve got a point.” Potter walked over and opened the window and flung the lights out into the front garden.”

“Well, that was a little extreme,” Draco said, walking over the window and peering out. It was snowing and a cold gust blew in and chilled his cheeks.

“I’m _feeling_ a bit extreme right now,” Potter murmured, closing the window.

“What?”

Draco turned to him. As soon as he saw Potter’s expression, his heart started to thud painfully and his mouth went dry. Potter was looking at him with lust-filled eyes and Draco found himself short of breath and a little unbalanced. He must have pitched forwards slightly because Potter grabbed both his arms to steady him. Draco made a small noise of protest which Potter clearly misread, because the next thing he knew Potter was leaning in to him, breathing, “Draco.”

Cool lips met his, and his mind shorted out. After a second or two, Draco's brain kicked back in and he realised he was _kissing Potter_. Not just _being_ kissed. Draco was actively responding and making embarrassing whimpering noises and his brain screamed _whatthefuck_ and _it’s Potter_ and how could this feel so bloody incredible and he could do this forever and ever and, oh Merlin, Potter’s hands were moving everywhere, down his sides and up again, still kissing and now Potter’s tongue, Potter’s fucking tongue, was exploring his mouth, hands still sliding down his hips and up again and down and moving between them, and Potter tasted like fervour and frenzy, and _merlinfuck_ Potter’s hand was pressing against his stiffening cock, and the other hand was undoing the button on his fly and _shit_.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

“No!” Draco pulled away and landed a sharp slap across Potter’s flushed cheek.

He caught a glimpse of of Potter’s shocked and hurt expression, just before he turned and raced out of the sitting room, down the hall and right out of the front door.


	14. Plobaireacht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone following and reading <3
> 
> This chapter is a pretty angsty (and short) but I swear (brownie promise) there is a happy ending not far off.
> 
> I wanna take a second to thank my beta [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/), I'd be in hape in the corner with a bottle of gin if it wasn't for him. He has pulled out all the stops to ensure my writing is in a fit state for posting.

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354952566505492/25_days_9_zpsnakeki03.jpg)

**Plobaireacht**. Irish. n. _Plobaireacht is when you’re crying and trying to speak at the same time but can’t make yourself clear._

Draco slammed the front door and raced down the steps to the gate. He leaned on the gatepost, chest heaving raggedly, his whole frame shaking with distress. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Sucking in freezing air into his lungs, the frigid air numbing him from the inside, Draco looked out into the dark street. He had to get out of here. To where? His mother? Fuck, no, he couldn't do that to her.

The wind gusted viciously, bringing a flurry of snow into his face, stinging his eyes and knocking the air out of his lungs. He stumbled backwards a few steps and his foot crunched on something. He bent down to see what he’d broken.

The _fucking_ fairy lights.

Salazar, if it hadn't been for those fucking fairy lights—what? He’d not have kissed Potter? He didn’t know the answer to that, his body had reacted to Potter's without his permission, so how could he have stopped it?

With no idea where to go, he sat down heavily on the step, shivering.

_Fucking Potter._

He pulled on the cable and dragged the rest of the fairy lights out of the snow, all tangled up again. Hands trembling, he began to slowly untangle them. _There must be a sodding spell for this._ If only he hadn’t skipped the last two Charms classes, he thought ruefully, he might actually know it.

For a minute or so, Draco continued untwisting the wiring with cold fingers, trying his hardest not to think about Potter’s soft wet mouth and his roving tongue and hands. Just then he heard the noise of the front door opening behind him. He set his jaw, determined not to look back.

Potter let out a “Thank fuck,” and parked himself next to Draco on the step. He said nothing for a second or two and then passed Draco an overcoat. Stubbornly, Draco didn't move, but a violent shiver betrayed him, and he had to acquiesce, grudgingly accepting the coat and putting it on. He shivered again sharply as its warmth seeped into him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, still staring resolutely at the floor.

“What the fuck was that about, Draco?” Potter said, plaintively. “I’m fucking trying here but, honestly, you’re giving me mixed signals. Merlin, I’m only human.” 

“I can’t do this with you,” Draco said through clenched teeth. “I just—it doesn’t feel right.”

 _Doesn’t it?_ a small voice in his head asked.

“It doesn’t ... feel right,” Potter repeated flatly, dropping his head.

And suddenly Potter's shoulders were shaking, and he was keening pathetically. _Fucking hell, Potter’s crying._

“It’s... hard for me too... Draco.” Potter was making embarrassing sobbing noises between words. “I wake up... one day and... the man I love is... is _someone else_ and... and remembers nothing... none of what we have... none of the things we’ve done... none of _who we are_.”

Potter turned to look at him, face contorted in pain.

He continued, voice wobbly. “What if... what if I never get _you_ back... what if you leave me...” He sniffed loudly, and swiped his nose with his hand. “I don’t think I could handle that. Oh fuck...” Potter pressed a trembling palm against his forehead and choked out another sob. “I love you _so_ much, and I’m trying... I’m trying to be patient but it’s... shit, it’s incredibly difficult to be close to your beautiful body every day, to lie next to you and not be able to _touch_.” He took a shuddering breath. “We touch _all the time,_ Draco. Merlin, we can’t keep our hands off each other. You’ve got to—”

“I’ve got to what, Potter? I’ve got to fuck you? Is that it?”

Shocked, Potter moved his hand away from his head to look at Draco, a string of clear snot hanging suspended between his finger and his forehead, right where his scar was, making it glisten in the moonlight. He looked devastated. “No, Draco, I didn't mean—”

“I’ve got to grope and fondle you and get you off just because that’s how _you_ remember things? For fuck’s sake,” he raged, “just fucking leave me alone, I never asked for any of this. Any of it! To be yanked into a relationship I didn't even want and expected to just ‘go with the flow’”. He stood up. “I told you before, Potter, you and I are _not_ meant to be together, it wouldn't work. It just—it _couldn’t_. If you can’t keep your hands to yourself for more than a few days, that's not my fucking problem. I don’t need this shit. Not from anyone, and especially not from a git like you!”

He flung the untangled cables at Potter and stormed up the steps and into the house, shaking with the effort of not crying himself. His head was filled with the image of Potter's crumpled tear-stained face. He knew he’d really hurt him. But Potter had gone too far! Draco hadn't even been prepared for a _kiss_ , never mind anything... _sexual_. Up to now Potter had been so patient and understanding and—

_Salazar! I hate him! I hate him and his stupid singing, and his stupid muscles, and his stupid face, and his stupid fucking scar._

He stomped up the stairs to their room, chest heaving and pulse pounding in his ears. He grabbed a few things and made his way to the spare room to try and sleep.

Alone.

* * *

_‘No! Please, no!’_

_‘It is too late for pleading. You have committed the ultimate betrayal and will therefore pay the ultimate price.’_

_‘Not her! Punish me!’_

_A white gnarled hand extended. A curse was spat._

_Screaming._

_He watched, helpless, as his mother's body convulsed perversely. Her shrieks tore through him painfully._

_‘No, no, stop! Stop!’_

_Desperately his hands combed the space around him; seeking a familiar warmth, a calming presence._

_The screaming continued, for hours it seemed, growing ever more urgent before tailing off, hoarse and desolate._

Draco awoke with a cry in sweat-soaked sheets, heart hammering in terror, unable to catch a full breath despite desperately sucking in air. His whole body shook and his chest ached.

Beside him, in the room's dim light, he could see the bed was empty.


	15. Shikata ga nai

Prompt pic : [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517354992722640897/25_days_26_zpssiijlgbx.jpg)

**Shikata ga nai**. Japanese. _It can't be helped. Fatalism. Any verbal reflection on humans’ powerlessness to control the situation_

It was several hours before Draco’s mind calmed down again, thoughts of Potter assailing him and confusing him. What further sleep he got was fitful at best and when he woke up the next morning, he had a banging headache and a deep-seated sense of wrongness.

He was disorientated for a few moments. Once he registered that he was in the spare room, the memory of his his fight with Potter came rushing back.

What had he done? This felt awful.

Things had been going relatively pleasantly up until now. It was inevitable that they’d need to tackle the ‘relationship’ stuff eventually, but last night was probably _not_ an example of the best approach.

Two beeps alerted him to a message on his phone.

It was Bill: _Have important info. Come to Ministry right away! (Harry can get you in)_

Bill must have found out more about the cursed ring. Draco needed to get to him. But he really really didn’t want to go down and face Potter right now. _Or_ spend the morning with him in the Ministry pretending like nothing had happened.

He texted back: _Potter busy today. Can you direct me?_

A minute later Bill responded: _No worries. Corner of Whitehall and Great Scotland Yard, enter ‘_ _62442’ in the red phone booth. We’re on Level 2, DMLE. I’ve told reception to expect you._

Draco snuck into Potter’s— _their_ —bedroom to grab some fresh clothes. He was surprised to see the bed didn’t look slept in. Perhaps Potter had made the bed before going downstairs. That would be a first, he thought, rolling his eyes, and then mentally slapped himself for thinking affectionately of the man. He returned to the spare room and dressed hurriedly.

He knew he couldn't leave without telling Potter where he was going so he swallowed his pride and went downstairs.

Potter wasn’t in the kitchen or the sitting room. Draco wandered about and eventually found him curled up in a tub chair in the study, an empty bottle of firewhiskey on the floor. Shit, he’d clearly spent the night in here. Draco took a deep breath and walked over to him.

“Potter.” He shook Potter’s shoulder gently and he awoke with a groan.

“Huh?” Potter shielded his eyes and sat up straight. “Draco. _Draco_. I’m so—”

“Don’t,” Draco snapped. “Save it for when I get back.”

“You’re going out?” Potter looked anxious. “Why? Where are you—”

“I need to go to the Ministry and meet Bill. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“I’ll come with you! I should be there, in case—”

“No!” he said sharply, and then softened his tone. “No. It’s quite alright. I’ll text message you if there’s anything important.” Draco studied Potter’s grey-tinged skin and red-rimmed bloodshot eyes, “You should go to bed. I’ll leave a hangover potion on your nightstand before I head off.”

* * *

Draco managed to enter the Ministry and find his way to the Curse-breaking department with minimal fuss. He’d been half expecting people to hiss at him or mention Death Eaters or, or well, _something_.

He knocked on the office door bearing Hermione Granger’s name. Nerves swirled ferociously in his stomach and his mind was still buzzing with conflicting thoughts about Potter. The fact that he’d barely slept a wink wasn’t helping either. He hadn’t felt this bad since, well, since before he lost his memory.

The door opened and a bushy haired lady in dark robes grabbed him into a tight hug. He found his face buried in chocolate curls and his arm trapped between him and an extremely ample bosom.

“Oh, Draco, I’ve been so worried about you, I’m so sorry I’ve not been in touch. It’s been hectic here!” She released him and stood back. “Come in, come in. Bill’s here too. Will you have a tea?”

“Um, hello. Yes. Thank you. Tea. Black with—”

“With one sugar, yes, yes. Come, sit down. There’s much to tell you.” She flicked her wand at a kettle on the sideboard and it began whistling.

Bill stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “In you come, Draco. I imagine this is all still a bit mental for you, eh?”

“Just a little,” Draco managed, and sat down in the chair beside Bill.

“Firstly, how are you feeling?” Granger asked.

“Weird, mostly. I mean, physically fine. But it’s—the last two weeks—well it’s been a lot to take in.”

“I can well imagine,” she said, with a sympathetic head tilt. After a beat, she sat down at her desk and shuffled some notes. “Right okay, Bill told me he updated you on where we were with the cursed objects and that, thanks to your research, conducted in your own time—whilst on sick leave, I might add—” she wagged her finger, “thanks to that research, we eliminated all items except the cursed ring.”

“Yes, correct. Bill told me.”

“Here you go.” Granger passed Draco a mug with a large ‘M’ on it, and he thanked her. “Okay, so you sent through the text on memory curses from the book you'd been studying and with a little more research we’ve been able to determine what exactly happened to you.”

“You have?” Draco sat up straight.

“Yes. As we know the ring belonged to a lady called Amabel Rosier, who married into the LeStrange family. When she died the ring passed to her firstborn, Rodolphus. What we’ve managed to deduce is that Rodolphus imbued the ring with a Dark curse. Looking at the way the curse works, we believe it was done as a service to Voldemort.”

Draco flinched at the use of the Dark Lord’s name. “Sorry, I—”

Granger laughed. “It’s fine. So, we believe the inscription was in Arabic to disguise the nature and purpose of the curse. And of course Rodolphus had been schooled in Arabic from an early age so that fits. If you remember, the inscription translated as _Cast back to first seeds, dispatch what succeeds.”_

Draco nodded.

“It appears that Vold— _You-know-who_ used the ring to either test or reinstate the loyalty of his followers, possibly following suspicion of betrayal or disloyalty. Whosoever tried on the ring would have all memories wiped right back to their first disloyal thoughts. So, as Draco found in his book, it’s a type of _Requaero Deleo_ curse,what’s known as a _Seek and Destroy_ in lay terms.”

“Yes,” Draco interjected, “it scans your mind for certain memories, right?”

“Exactly. The curse magic scans back through your memories and finds the ‘first seeds’ of whatever sort of memory the curse has been instructed to find. So in this instance it’s disloyalty to Vold—sorry, to _You-Know-Who_.”

“It’s okay Granger, I mean Hermione. You can say the name. I’ll survive.”

“Right. So when the magic finds that particular memory, it then ‘dispatches’ all memories that ‘succeed’ it, or in other words deletes everything that follows that first moment. We guess that the victim could then be re-indoctrinated to Voldemort’s ideologies, and in this way there need not be so many killings. It may have been around the time that many Death Eaters were deserting the cause, and it was a way to stop their numbers from dwindling.”

Bill whistled. “Seems a bit bloody extreme, eh?”

“It is. But less brutal than executing disloyal followers.”

“True,” Bill agreed, "and I guess old Voldy _was_ inclined to deal in extremes. It was kind of his thing."

“And now to you, Draco. It appears you tried the ring on. By rights you should be given a formal warning for disregard of department safety rules.”

Bill made a noise of disbelief. “Oh come on, Hermione! The bloke’s been through enough.”

“Well, we’ll deal with all that later. Firstly, Draco, can you try to remember the last thoughts you were having before the memories were wiped? I mean, what you were talking about or thinking about as your sixteen year old self?”

Draco tried to think back. He’d been going over everything in his head, hadn’t he? The Dark Lord’s task, what he needed to do to fix the cabinet. Then he remembered. He’d been struck by a thought that night. That perhaps being a Malfoy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. That perhaps he was stuck doing something he didn't want to do. That he wished he was someone else.

“I guess I was having second thoughts. About what I’d been tasked with. Dumbledore’s murder, I mean. I was thinking I didn't want to do it, and I wished I wasn’t a Malfoy.”

“Bingo!” said Bill. “Disloyal thoughts.”

“Yes,” said Hermione, “that seems to confirm our findings alright. Especially if you’d not thought those things before that point.”

“No. No I don’t suppose I had.” Draco shook his head.

“I think we’d better get to St Mungos, then.” Hermione stood up and grabbed her outer robes off a peg.

* * *

As he waited in a private room in St Mungo’s for the Healers to process the new information they’d been given, Draco began several text messages to Potter. He hadn’t managed to send any of them. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Potter being here, despite something within him desperately craving his presence.

He deleted what he’d written and started again. He was being ridiculous; Potter really ought to be here when Draco’s memories were reinstated. He’d typed _Potter, can you please come to—_ when someone called his name.

“Mr Malfoy?”

He stood up at the same time as Bill and Hermione. “Yes?”

“Mr Malfoy, I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news.”

* * *

Well that was it, then. _Fuck_.

He kicked an empty plastic coffee cup across the floor and it skittered to a stop next to Bill’s foot. Bill gave him a sympathetic look and put the cup in the bin.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

There was nothing the Healers could do. This was ancient Dark magic, they said, rarely encountered before. Far too dangerous to try and reverse. Anything they attempted would be an experimental procedure that if unsuccessful, could end up either wiping earlier memories, or even leave him with anterograde amnesia: the inability to form new memories going forward.

It wasn’t a risk they were willing to take. There was simply nothing they could do.

_So this is it._

_This is my life now._

_Stuck here with no fucking clue about anything. And there's absolutely nothing I can do about it._

He sat down in a green plastic chair and dropped his head into his hands.

_And what about Harry fucking Potter?_


	16. Drachenfutter

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355041007337473/25_days_23_zpspibkvbxl.jpg)

_This is my Winter song._  
_December never felt so wrong,_  
_'Cause you're not where you belong;_  
_Inside my arms._

(Winter Song - Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson)

  
**Drachenfutter**. German. n _. Literally ‘dragon-fodder’. A gift given to placate someone, especially a spouse, who is angry or upset with the giver._

_Well, fuck._

Draco had been one hundred per cent banking on his memory returning, _and_ having the world right itself, _and_ thus conveniently resolving the Potter issue. He hadn't even considered what he would do if he didn't get his memories back.

In a daze he stood and nodded dumbly while Hermione and Bill hugged him and said goodbye before heading back to the Ministry, promising to make further investigations; Hermione was convinced there had to be more the Healers could do. She also urged Draco to see a Mind Healer, as had been recommended.

Draco couldn't think about a Mind Healer right now. Now, it was time to face Potter. It was only fair. But Draco needed to think first, let the news of his permanent amnesia sink in a little, and what it might mean for his life from now on. He decided to walk home to give himself time to collect his thoughts.

As he exited onto the street, he texted Potter to say he was on his way home. His phone rang moments later, but Draco didn't answer. He needed to sort his head out first.

He walked through the same park with the twinkly Christmas lights that he’d walked through with Potter not two weeks before, when Potter had teased him, and he’d kicked leaves at Potter.

It was beginning to snow, and as he pulled on the woolly hat that had been in his pocket—the ‘Fluff’ one—he admitted to himself that he felt pretty shit that he'd excluded Potter from the day's events. But he simply hadn’t been ready to deal with questions about the kiss and… and their argument. He still wasn't. All he knew was that he felt badly about hurting Potter.

Draco thought about what it might mean; why _did_ he feel so awful about this—about the way he'd acted towards Potter the night before? Clearly he didn’t _hate_ Potter anymore. Not at all. In fact... well, if he was stuck with amnesia, he really needed to figure out how he felt about the man.

And yes, wasn’t that just it? He was dealing with Potter _the_ _man_ , not Potter the teenage boy. Potter was an adult, he’d had so many experiences that Draco—this Draco—hadn’t: he’d fought a war, had children, and had grown into a strong, loving and capable adult. A confident and _sexual_ adult man—a very attractive man—that loved Draco and wanted to _do things_ with him. And it scared the fuck out of him. His head hadn’t caught up to the present; it screamed _No_ , despite the rest of him begging _Yes._

And that had been fine. Last week. Yesterday. This morning. Because _then_ he was sure it was all going to come flooding back to him, and everything would make sense, and they would pick up where they left off, and it would be just another funny story to laugh about and tell the grandchildren; another barmy occurrence in the life of Draco Malfoy. So he could put off any hard decisions or conflicting emotions or unwanted sexual thoughts, tuck them away at the back of his brain and wait it out.

But now. Now he had to decide. He was faced with a reality that was foreign to him and he could choose to either fight against it or try to accept it. Neither option was ideal.

Fuck.

He couldn't deny the fond feelings that he had unexpectedly developed towards Potter. So what would be the point now in continuing to fight it? Fighting it like he had been doing up to now.

And not just for the last two weeks. He sighed. If he was truly honest he'd always fought those feelings. Because there had been no point, there would have been no fucking way Potter would have felt the same. Not the Golden Boy, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. So he’d fought it, pushed it down inside him, and built a brick wall around those feelings, a wall to protect his heart, cemented by insults flung and venom spat and and hatred spewed.

But this Potter had forgotten all that. Forgiven it. This Potter actually... He tried to get his head around the fact that this Potter—who was both enigmatic and straightforward, who both exasperated him and calmed him—liked him. Liked Draco. Loved him. He couldn’t figure out why.

And _he_ supposedly loved Potter back.

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Give in? Let it happen? Play ‘happy families’ with Potter for the sake of his son?

Would it _be_ playing? Hadn’t it started to feel like a happy family already, despite it being worlds apart from the dignified yet staid family he grew up in? Did he really want to break that up? 

As he passed Pizza Express it hit him. Little rays of neon light seeped into the cracks in his teenage brain’s logic illuminating something indisputable and he knew, he knew what he wanted deep down and knew what had been holding him back.

He turned on his heel. He knew what he had to do to make this right, and it started with one thing: an extra large, American Hot pizza with extra jalapeños... and, he thought with a grimace, would likely end with a long, detailed and most probably awkward explanation for his behaviour last night.

* * *

He entered the house with more self awareness than he'd ever had in his life, all sixteen years of it that he could remember at any rate.

Potter skidded out into the hall to greet him. “Draco! Fuck! I've been so worried!”

“I brought us pizza,” Draco said, heart hammering.

“Well... good. Thanks. I like pizza.” Potter sounded disconcerted.

“I know.”

“Okay.” Now Potter _looked_ disconcerted.

“Okay.” This wasn't going how he'd planned.

“Let's go into the sitting room,” Potter said. “Scorpius is at his friend Ralph's house. We've to collect him later.”

“Good. I mean, that's convenient. I—I want—I have a few things to say.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I'm sorry—” they both started.

“Can I just—” they both continued.

“You go,” they both conceded. Then both laughed nervously.

Draco set the pizza boxes on the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. “Potter. For this, I really think you should sit down too.”

Potter sat on the sofa next to Draco and eyed him warily.

“Right,” said Draco, hollowly, “firstly, it looks like I’m never getting my memories back.”

“What? Never? Are you sure? Those fucking Healers! Why not?” Potter stood up, his hands balled into fists and eyes blazing.

“Sit down, Potter. Eat your pizza and I'll tell you everything that happened today.” That would be the easy part, because after that they would have to discuss last night...and _feelings_.

Potter opened the box and his lip wobbled, “Oh, you got my favourite.”

“Yes. Now eat.” Draco ordered. “There’s a lot to get through.”

As they munched their pizza Draco brought Potter up to date on what Hermione and Bill had found out about the cursed ring and about how the magic worked. Potter had a few choice swear words to describe Voldemort and the LeStranges, and Draco had to agree with him.

Anger and worry lined Potter’s features as Draco explained what the Healers had said about it being too dangerous to try to reverse the curse.

“That’s just terrible Draco, to have permanently lost all those memories. I can’t begin to imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty fucking difficult,” Draco said, “but, you know what, it’s out of my control now. I feel strangely calm. I’ve accepted there’s nothing I can do.” He leaned forward and closed the pizza box, then turned to face Potter. “I have to focus on my current life, do what feels right for me. Take control of _now_.”

Potter looked at him, anxiety clouding his beautiful green eyes. “You’re going to leave me aren’t you?” he said tremulously. “I messed it up by moving too fast with you.”

“I’m not going to lie, Potter.” Potter’s face fell further. “It _was_ too quick for me. But I want to explain why. It’s just—Salazar, this is _embarrassing_.” He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “I’ve never… _been_ with someone before. Well, aside from snogging and some very mild arse groping, I’ve never done anything… _sexual_... anything at all.”

“Oh,” Potter’s face softened. “ _Ohh_. Oh gods,you’re a—”

“Yes.” Draco felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears.

“And you’ve never even—?”

“If you mean hand jobs and blow jobs and such like,” Draco said briskly, “then no. Nothing. Never got a bloke off or vice versa. Or a girl for that matter.”

“Fuck, Draco, I’m so sorry, I never thought—”

“Well, frankly I’m not surprised. You rarely do. Think, that is. Harry Potter was always more of a doer.”

“So… you didn’t _want_ to kiss me, last night?” Potter ventured.

“No, you’ve got it wrong. I did want to kiss you. Well, actually I didn't know I did… until I did, if you see what I mean. It was a surprise and... well,” he lowered his eyes, “I seemed to enjoy it. What am I saying? It was fantastic. It was just my stupid fucking brain, telling me it was wrong, and to stop, and when you—when you touched me, I panicked.”

“Well fuck, yeah that's understandable. I shouldn’t have done that. I just—I was sure I'd seen something in your face, your eyes, while you were detangling me from those blasted lights, something I recognised. An expression… from before. I was _so sure_ you wanted it.”

“Well maybe I did and I just didn’t realise it. I—I do have some feelings for you and I’m only just figuring out what they are. I just... well, I wasn’t prepared to feel like this about you. You're Harry Potter. Fucking hell, by rights, every cell in me should hate you, at least that what my stupid teenage Death Eater brain—which is clearly stuck in 1996—keeps telling me…” He looked into Harry’s shining eyes, “but sweet fucking Salazar, my body betrayed me, fuck,” he gave a short laugh, “it apparently wants every inch of you…” Draco looked away again, feeling tears well up, “and my heart… Potter, my heart is so scared. Scared I’m going to fall for you. Scared I'm not good enough for you, scared of so many things.”

“Oh Draco. Don’t be scared. You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me, don't you realise that. You’re a beautiful person inside and out and I love you… so fucking much.”

“I want to believe you, I do, but my mind keeps telling me you shouldn't love me… and I thought that it’d all make sense when I got better, but now—” Draco gulped back a sob, “Like I can almost believe that maybe you’d like the _other_ me, the one who’s been through everything you have, but why would you like _me_ , the me that’s here now. I’m not the same person as him. I haven't grown up… I don’t _know you_ like he does.”

“You _are_ still my Draco, but yeah, you _are_ different. Like you’re so much more wary and guarded, suspicious I suppose, but of course you would be… but also you’re more, I don’t know, curious and innocent and enthusiastic about the weirdest things—you like helping me cook, which you never did before—and there’s something bloody attractive about that too. I can’t explain it.” He took Draco's hand. “My feelings for you haven’t changed at all. I was just so worried you wouldn't want _me_ any more, and when you said your memory loss was permanent, I, fuck… I was sure you—”

Draco interrupted, “It's hard for me to admit… but I do want you. I can see what an incredible life we have here, and can tell how happy we must be, or must have been, and I'd be mad to reject that. I just need to take things slow.” He closed his eyes and gathered his nerves. “If you don’t mind being patient with me, then I'd like to try and catch up.”

Potter took Draco's hand. A warm tingle flowed into Draco, up his arm and into his chest. He was starting to notice this safe magical feeling more and more whenever Potter touched him, and Scorpius too for that matter.

“Of course.” Potter smiled through tear-filled eyes and thumbed Draco’s knuckles softly. “We've got all the time in the world. Just smile. I really need to see you smile right now.”

Draco looked into his eyes, squeezed Potter's hand and forced a smile. After a second it faded.

“I’m so sorry for all the stuff I said last night, about us.”

“It's fine, you were in a state. I'm sorry too for being selfish, and not asking if you wanted it. I shouldn't have been so full on.”

“You were right though, I _was_ giving you mixed signals. Not on purpose, but I'm sorry for that too.”

“And what about the slap in the face?” Potter arched an eyebrow.

Draco finally smiled genuinely. “Not one bit sorry; you definitely deserved that.”

“Git,” Potter laughed.

“Prick,” Draco snorted.

They smiled shyly at each other for a few seconds.

“So, Potter said eventually, “what now?”

“How about a first date?” Draco ventured. “Start from the start and see what happens?”

Potter grinned. “That's a great idea. And if it's anything like our previous first date, we'll both get very drunk on firewhisky and end up staggering back to my place and… well... maybe that’s a story for another time.”

“I'd really like to hear about that. But, yeah, maybe not right now.”

“Sure. So, er, how about this Friday night? I can ask Gin to babysit Scorpius.”

“Alright. Friday. It's a date,” Draco said, heart feeling light.

“Speaking of Scorpius,” Potter frowned, “we need to go pick him up from his friend’s in five minutes.”

“Um,” Draco paused, “Aren't you going to offer me one of your trademark hugs?”

Potter beamed at him and held his arms open wide. “Draco, please may I hug you?”

“If you must,“ Draco sighed in the most put-upon voice he could muster.

He let the soothing tingle of Potter’s magic wash over him again, a welcome balm after the day he'd had.


	17. Forelsket

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355080949694465/25_days_14_zpsmzqmpiwq.jpg)

**Forelsket**. Norwegian. n. _The indescribable euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love._

Draco woke up with Potters warm leg pressed against his. He lay there enjoying the reassuring feel of it, muscly and bristly and solid. The sparkle of calming familiar magic was still there too and he pondered what that could mean. He'd never felt anything like it before losing his memory, so he could only surmise it was a side effect from the curse magic. He resolved to ask Hermione about it that day.

Potter sighed and Draco turned his gaze to his sleeping form, curled in a loose foetal position with his legs tucked in next to Draco.

A night’s sleep had allowed his brain to begin to accept his decision to try for a relationship with Potter. He allowed himself to dwell on how handsome the man was, and how strong he looked even in sleep, the muscles on his tanned arms and neck clearly defined.

He let his mind wander as to what it might be like to give himself to Potter. To touch him, to let himself be touched. To join his naked body to Potter’s. He may not have had any experience but he had a pretty good imagination. He'd fantasised about Potter before—he didn’t mind admitting to himself now—but it was different having him here beside him in bed, partially clothed. It was _real_. It might really happen. Draco’s heart raced in excitement and fear at the thought of knowing Potter so intimately, and he realised he was gripping his own erection through his pyjamas. He’d told Potter he wanted to take things slowly but he was pretty sure his cock didn't agree.

He slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom. Once in, he leant back heavily against the bathroom door, slipped his pyjama bottoms down and closed his fingers around his swollen cock. As he pulled himself off in smooth unhurried strokes, he pictured Potters green eyes, dark with lust, his soft pink lips, his naked back. He imagined running his fingers down Potter’s back, and wondered whether it was as hard and smooth as it looked. His strokes sped up as he pictured Potter on all fours, pert arse swaying in front of him, taunting him, imagined digging his fingers into the soft skin and parting his cheeks, and finding Potter open for him and ready and pleading for Draco to fuck him hard and make him come. He bit his lip hard to stop from crying out. In his mind he breached Potter's eager hole in one silky motion and thrust into him over and over and over until he came hard in hot jets deep inside him calling _HarryHarryHarryfuckkk_.

A quick Scourgify and a splash of cold water to the face later, Draco crept back into bed with Potter.

Potter, still sleeping peacefully and looking so innocent. He suddenly felt ashamed of having a mucky wank over someone this angelic looking, someone so intrinsically good.

His shame abated somewhat when Potter roused with a stretch, turned to him and said, “Merlin’s balls, I'm starving. I could eat a Druid’s arse through a rusty gate.”

“Bloody hell Potter, the mouth on you.” Draco sniggered. “I suppose we had better get you some breakfast quick, lest Scorpius overhear any of your vulgar proclamations.”

* * *

After breakfast Draco called Hermione and explained about the touch sensations he was experiencing.

“Oh, well that _is_ interesting,” she agreed, “I don't know what it means but I have a few initial theories and an idea where I could find some information. Give me some time to research it. I've got a good feeling about this.”

Draco was unsure what she meant but was distracted by Potter coming into the room. He ended the call quickly, thanking Hermione for her help. He hadn't mentioned this symptom—or whatever it was—to Potter yet; he wanted to wait just a bit longer until he had more information.

* * *

Over the next day or so, Draco grew more and more _aware_ of Potter. How he rapped along to hip-hop songs he had absolutely no business attempting. The way his pink tongue poked out in concentration when he was following a recipe from a book rather than from memory. The way he always got up in the night to check on Penny if he heard her make little squeaks and cuddled her like a baby until she settled and then returned to bed sighing like a harried father. The way he always offered to do the ‘physical’ jobs and even pulled a muscle lifting something when a basic levitation spell would have sufficed. 

And, Merlin, the way the outline of his cock was tantalisingly visible when he wore his light grey joggers as he had been doing all of Thursday. Salazar be praised for Muggle sporting trousers, they were a truly a hallowed shrine to both arse and crotch.

All of these little things and more were chiseling away at the brick wall Draco had built around his heart, and little by little it was beginning to crumble.

* * *

On Friday evening Potter Flooed Scorpius off to Ginevra's. He returned looking a little harassed, and then went upstairs to get changed.

When he arrived back downstairs, Draco was taken aback at the transformation. Gone were the ratty trainers, the jeans with the holes in the knees and the tatty jumper. Now Potter wore trousers with a sharp crease, a pink shirt which made his tanned skin gleam, and a navy blazer cut to accentuate his toned form. He'd even attempted to comb his hair Draco noted with amazement.

“Potter, you look... very dashing.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, “you chose these clothes for me, so I knew you'd like them. You're looking pretty snappy yourself if you don't mind me saying.”

Draco looked down at his own outfit, a crisp white shirt paired with powder blue chinos and shiny brown oxfords. “I don't mind at all.” And he didn’t. Potter’s compliments were no longer bothering him as much as they used to.

They side-alonged to an alleyway round the corner from La Cucina Di Mamma, an Italian restaurant in Lambeth. Potter had chosen it saying the food was _magnifico_ —in an exaggerated Italian accent.

Draco felt a little nervous with anticipation. It really _was_ a first date for him. His very first... _ever_. Sure he'd been to countless restaurants with Mother and Father but this was different. This was with a suitor, and he chuckled to himself to think of Potter as that. He would just have to let his decorous pureblood upbringing and Slytherin instincts guide him. What could possibly go wrong?

After their starter arrived, a shared platter of antipasti bites, Potter hissed at him, “Draco, why are you acting weird?”

“Weird? I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean.”

“All polite and stiff and _stuck-up_. You don't need to be like that around me.”

“I am merely following restaurant etiquette Potter, it's a shame I cannot say the same about you.” He gestured at Potter's napkin which was tucked into his shirt collar.

“I've ordered the spaghetti con polpette, it gets messy,” he protested. “Besides that's not what I mean. You seem tense. Just relax, be your witty sparkling self, that's enough for me. Remember I love you no matter what.”

Draco choked a little on an olive. “Right. Okay. Merlin, can't a chap be well-mannered around his boyfriend these days?”

The mention of the word ‘boyfriend' had Potter grinning from ear to ear, the sap.

They chatted casually for a little while, and Draco began to relax.

As Potter slurped his spaghetti, Draco pressed his lower lip down with the tines of his fork. “So... you really love me a lot?”

“Ye-es.” Potter gave him a funny look. “I think I've made that pretty obvious.”

“Enough to give me your garlic bread?”

“Fuck no.”

“Worth a try,” he pouted. “Best tasting garlic bread I’ve ever had.”

“Which is exactly why I'm not giving mine up. You’re welcome to a little bite though,” Potter teased.

“No deal. It’s all or nothing now, Potter.”

Potter caught the meaning and the happy look on his face was dazzling. Draco wanted to grab him and hold him tight and never let go. He placed the blame for his sudden impetuous thoughts firmly on the the four glasses of Chianti he’d had, and that would probably explain the twinkly feeling in his chest too.

* * *

They left the restaurant and walked across Westminster Bridge just as Big Ben was striking ten. A layer of snow covered the ground and it brought a magical tranquility to what was normally such a noisy bustling city

“Let's go grab a drink,” said Draco, “It's far too early to go home.”

“How about the Leaky, it's not too far of a walk?”

“Perfect.”

They passed Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and took a right along the Embankment. Strolling along by the river, chatting about their kids and their plans for the weekend, meant that before long they were passing through Trafalgar Square and onto the lively Charing Cross Road where the concealed entrance of the Leaky Cauldron stood.

Once inside the pub, they settled in a booth and called for a couple of firewhiskys from Tom the bartender. Thankfully Draco had tried firewhisky before when Theo had smuggled some into their dorm so he knew what to expect.

Draco drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds then turned his head to Potter. “So. I think it's about time you finally told me… about _us_. How we got together,” he gestured between them, “how this whole broom crash happened. I’m ready to hear it.”

“Alright. Well. If you’re sure?” Draco nodded and Potter took a deep breath. “Okay. I’d had my eye on you for a while. I’d seen you about. Al and Scorp had the occasional playdate and I’d always thought you were fit.” Tom set the whiskys on the table and Potter paused to say thanks. “So, like I say, I was definitely interested. But I really became hooked at a party at Bill's house a couple of years ago. You'd changed so much, laughing easily with Bill and Fleur, dancing to Luna singing with her band, first with Oliver Wood and then with Lucien Bole, and I was completely entranced by you. And a little jealous of Wood and Bole. Well,” Potter looked shy, “a lot jealous.”

This was deliciously thrilling, Potter jealous seeing him with other men. “Go on,” he urged.

“Of course you were your usual offhand snarky Slytherin self with me but luckily I was my usual persistent Gryffindor self and in the end I convinced you to go on a date. We went out for a really nice dinner, a French restaurant you chose—fancy as fuck obviously—then a few drinks in the Leaky, just like we are now, and we _may_ have got a tiny bit drunk and ended up in a nightclub. Danced all night, until they kicked us off the dance floor at closing time, and then Apparated back to mine and, erm, carried on the dance in, er, a more horizontal fashion.”

“So we fucked all night?” Draco smirked. He took a sip of whisky.

“Y-yes. Merlin, I thought you were innocent.”

“I may be inexperienced, but I know how things are done. Which one of us tops?”

Potter suddenly had a coughing fit. Draco pounded him on the back, laughing.

“Sorry, a bit of whisky went down the wrong tube. Crikey Draco, say what's on your mind, why don’t you? And… just so you know, we're pretty versatile in bed, although… I must say... I do like the feel of you inside me.” He blushed prettily and Draco's head swam at the thought.

Draco didn't know if it was the firewhisky or Potter's words, but he was feeling a little giddy and uncharacteristically brave, and was rather enjoying the effect he was having on Potter.

“I think I quite fancy going to a nightclub, Potter. I've never been and I hear they're marvellous fun.” He swirled his whisky in his tumbler and knocked it back. He looked straight at Potter. “Will you take me?”

Potter's stunning green eyes went wide and he nodded rapidly.


	18. Dakat’

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355121294704650/25_days_25_zpsozoih7o3.jpg)

**Dakat’** . Russian. v. _To keep saying yes. Someone who agrees a lot._

“In you go, gentlemen.” The red cord was pulled aside for them.

The bouncers at Heaven nightclub in Charing Cross seemed to recognise them. Draco guessed they'd been here a few times before. Fridays were _G-A-Y Camp Attack_ nights according to the billboard outside. Draco steeled himself and tried not to feel intimidated by the sound of that. The fresh air hitting his lungs after leaving the Leaky had mingled with the wine and whisky in his bloodstream and left him feeling light-headed

As he descended the narrow staircase Draco could feel the bass of the music reverberating through the walls and the volume amplified with each step. He followed Potter through a set of swinging double doors and his ears and eyes were instantly assaulted with pumping beats and flashing lights. He paused with fluttering eyelids to collect himself as the bassline entwined with his heartbeat and the strobe light infiltrated his brain. He was definitely a little drunk.

He looked around the high-ceilinged club in wonder. All around him hundreds of men, and a scattering of women, were drinking and dancing and singing and writhing in time to the beat. Hands were raised in some sort of worship to someone on stage behind what looked like a pair of record players. All around him people were different and colourful and vibrant and energetic, some topless and sweaty, some feverishly kissing, and the bass kept pumping and he'd never seen anything like it in his life.

“Let's get a drink,” Potter was saying, although Draco had to read his lips due to the volume of the dance music.

“Yes,” was all he could respond, legs following after Potter automatically. The way he felt now, with the bass throbbing up through his legs into his groin and up to sync with his pounding heart, he didn’t know how he could ever say anything but ‘yes’ to Potter.

Potter bought them a vodka and red bull each and stared intensely at Draco as he sipped it.

They watched the crowd swelling and retreating with the music for several minutes, then Potter leaned in to Draco’s ear. “Like it?”

Draco shivered from Potter's hot breath against his skin and the ghosting touch of his lips. “Yes... Wait, do you mean the drink or the place?”

“Either. All of it.”

“The drink is lizard piss, but the nightclub is amazing.”

Potter laughed. “Well the drink will _get you_ pissed as a newt, that's for sure... if you're not already. And give you plenty of energy for dancing. If you fancy it.”

Draco did fancy it.

“Yes. I do. I want to dance.”

“Great. Let's go.”

Potter grabbed his hand and led him to a space on the dancefloor, his arse moving from side to side in sync with the beat. He faced Draco, grabbing his other hand, coaxing him to move his body too. Potter's face and hair was bathed in alternating purple and pink light and right now he seemed almost other-worldly. Draco wanted to touch his glowing skin. _He's so beautiful._

“You're so beautiful,” Potter purred, mouth pressing hotly against his ear, and Draco gasped to hear his thoughts echoed.

Potter turned around suddenly, his back to Draco, and began to sway his body sensuously, arse rolling and gyrating against Draco's crotch. _That fucking swaying arse will be the death of me, sweet Merlin_. Draco was getting hard from the contact, and animal instinct made him grab Potter's hips to control and direct the movement against his swelling cock.

For a few minutes he thought about nothing except moving and feeling and absorbing every sensation he could and forgetting that anything else existed. Dancing like this seemed to come naturally to him. The rhythmic movement of Potter against him combined with the music and the heaving throng of bodies around him all moving in sync, soon had Draco’s arousal heightening, climbing with the music.

Overwhelmed, Draco pulled back seconds before the music crested and the crowd went insane. He gasped for breath. Potter turned back round, face flushed and gorgeous, but eyes caring.

He wrapped his arms round Draco s neck and shouted in his ear. “You okay?”

Draco put his mouth to Potters ear. “Yes. Yeah.. Just let's face each other for a bit before I come in my pants.”

“Fuck, sorry I'm getting carried away. I do that.”

Draco was well aware Potter got carried away at any semblance of a beat or rhythm, and chuckled remembering him shimmying around the kitchen to _Hey Ya!_ that morning.

“It's fine, just keep your arms around me and let's dance like this.”

They danced face to face for several songs, Draco feeling secure with Potter’s solid body against his, one hand resting on the heat of his lower back and the other on the hard edge of a shoulder blade through his smooth cotton shirt. They twisted and swayed together as one, hip bones pressed together, and if Potter's thigh found its way between Draco's legs on more than one occasion it was never long enough to overwhelm Draco.

After a couple of tracks, they broke apart to go get another drink. It was crowded at the bar and they took their drinks to a quieter corner with a shelf they could set them on, next to two men wearing identical leather trousers and crop tops. Draco was still breathless from the dancing, not so much from the exertion but from the heart-stopping intensity of being so close to Potter.

“You’re out of breath,” Potter said, placing his hand on Draco’s chest as it rose and fell. Rather than calming him the contact made Draco’s heart beat faster. Potter’s sweaty dark hair was sticking up in every direction and he had beads of perspiration on his upper cheeks that Draco had an overwhelming urge to lick.

“Yes, a little.”

Harry brushed his fingers along Draco’s jawline. “Can I kiss you?”

Draco’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh, and he could only stare helplessly into green smouldering eyes, eyes that were searching his face for the answer.

“Yes,” Draco managed eventually, heart hammering.

“Are you sure?” Potter asked. “You really want this? You _know_ you have a choice.”

Merlin yes, he really wanted this. He'd never wanted anything more. “Yes. I choose yes.”

“Good,” Potter said, stepping closer, the hand on Draco’s face moving up to caress his hair, sending tiny electric shocks across his scalp, the other hand landing gently on Draco’s hip where it radiated warmth, “Because I want to do this the right way this time. And Merlin, I’ve been wanting to kiss you all evening.”

And so they kissed. They kissed and it was hot and heavy and intoxicating. Potter tasted of Red Bull, medicinal and sweet, and the familiar smell of musk and treacle and leaves sent Draco’s mind whirling to a time long ago, dark and dangerous, but now, now it was bright and exhilarating.

As their tongues and lips explored in a teasing dance, he was sure he could feel his own magic swirling within him, smokey and silver, reaching out to Potter at every point on their bodies where they were touching, their legs, their hips, their hands and arms, their soft wet mouths. And Potter’s warm magic was surging in, finding its way into each artery and capillary and axon and synapse, and making them tingle, sharp and golden, racing towards his heart, heating him up. Hotter than should be bearable.

When they broke the kiss, they held each other tight, both panting, chests heaving. Potter’s hands were still raking his hair and perspiration on Potter’s forehead mingled with his own as they leant against each other.

“Fuck, Potter, that was hot.”

“No kidding,” Potter huffed a laugh.

“I want to do that again,” Draco smiled, “A lot.”

“You don’t know how chuffed I am to hear that. And relieved.”

“Merlin, Potter, if I had a choice between a kiss like that and breathing...” He scrunched up his face in thought. “Well I’d choose to breathe, obviously... but I’d be torn for a good second.”

Potter laughed. “That’s... that’s not the choice on offer here. You're allowed to breathe.” He pressed his lips to Draco’s damp cheek. “And _definitely_ allowed to kiss.”

* * *

It was coming to the end of the night and the DJ had clearly decided it was time to up the festive ante by belting out a few Christmas classics. Mariah Carey was currently singing _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ , and they were taking another break from dancing—and kissing—having luckily found a couple of empty bar stools.

Draco turned to Potter.

“What do _you_ want for Christmas, then? I'd like to get you something, but I don't really know what sort of things you like.”

“Honestly? What I really want for Christmas is for you to be content with this life you've been landed with,” he paused, “and for you to want me even half as much I want you.”

Draco smirked, “Translation: all you want for Christmas is to shag me.”

“Oi, not true! Shut up. Well... yeah that would be... Merlin’s beard, I haven't seen you naked in _two weeks._ I’m starting to forget what you look like under those clothes. It's getting more and more difficult to wank.”

“You clearly have no imagination,” Draco drawled. “I have no problem imagining you when I—” He stopped short, horrified at his indiscretion, clapping his hand over his mouth.

Potter howled, “Oh the truth is coming out now. This is too good.”

Draco sniggered, “Oh shit. Well they do say _in vino veritas_ , I suppose.”

“Do they?” Potter was still laughing, “And what exactly do they mean when they say that? That Draco Malfoy pictures Harry Potter naked while he’s slapping his snake? Oh boy, things are looking up. Sounds like I might just get that shag one of these days.”

Draco attempted to fight a grin, but failed. “Yes, you utter arse, you just might.”


	19. Cafune

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355162814382085/25_days_27_zpscqvtfnfk.jpg)

**Cafune**. Brazilian Portuguese. n. _The act of tenderly running your fingers through the hair of somebody you love._

After a few more drinks, some more dancing and a lot more kissing, they left the club and staggered across the street to the Leaky to use the Floo. They were both far too drunk to Apparate, but not drunk enough to go home without a nightcap, according to Potter. After a shot of firewhisky each, and shout-singing a few bars of Lady Gaga’s _Born This Way_ , they called it a night.

They stumbled out of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place, a tangle of giggling arms and legs and landed with a thump on the rug, Draco on top of Potter.

Draco gazed down at the rosy-cheeked, scruffy-haired man beneath him and then planted his lips on him in a searing kiss. His tongue found its way into Potter’s mouth, twisting and exploring, and then he pulled away dragging his teeth over Potter’s lower lip and began kissing Potter's face, his cheeks, his closed eyes, and then his jaw, his neck. Potter tilted his head back and moaned appreciatively.

How could Draco have ever thought this was a bad idea? He threaded his fingers though Potter's hair and pressed his face into his neck, nipping here and trailing soft open mouth kisses there. The man was delectable. And fuck if he wasn't making the sexiest little noises, reacting to Draco's mouth and lips on him.

Potter’s hands found Draco’s arse and he pulled Draco tight against his groin. Draco could feel Potter’s erection against his thigh, but instead of panicking him it sent a surge of lust through his bloodstream and straight to his own cock. Fuck, he wanted this, needed this. His brain was still screaming _It’s Potter_ , but it didn't seem scary now. In felt thrilling. Inevitable. _Right_.

Still kissing Potter’s throat, he removed one hand from Potter's hair, reached between them and gave Potter's cock a tentative squeeze. It earned him a filthy groan, and Salazar it felt incredible in his hand. He'd never felt a hard dick other than his own and this one was solid and manly and what made it all the more thrilling was the incontrovertible evidence of Potter's arousal, of Potter's desire for him, for Draco.

“Want you.” Draco pressed his palm firmly against Potter’s hardness to emphasise his point.

“Draco, wait, you don’t have to.”

“ _Want it_ ,” he urged.

“You’re drunk, we shouldn't. We said we’d take things slow.”

_What the fuck? Did we? No no no._

“Potter, shut the fuck up,” Draco slurred, slightly. “I’m so hard for you right now.”

“Not when you're drunk, Draco, it's—mmmm,” Potter hummed as Draco gave his cock another squeeze, “It’s not consensual.”

“Oh what, _now_ you’re all about consent?” Draco paused in thought momentarily. “You've got sobering potion, right? I’ve seen it in the bathroom.”

Potter smirked. “Merlin, I love your brain. Maybe even as much as I'm loving the feel of your hard cock against me. Having said that, get the fuck off me so I can get the potions.”

Once the effects of the sobering potion kicked in, Draco began to feel a little nervous. He still wanted this, but now little inhibitions were creeping in, chipping at his confidence, doubts about his abilities, and whether Potter would think him ridiculously naive. It _was_ his first time, after all.

Potter interrupted his thoughts. “Right, the ten minutes are up, how are you feeling?”

Draco’s mouth felt like sandpaper. “Er, fine. I—”

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. Things often seem a lot less like a good idea when you're sober.”

“I do. I do still want to—I’m just—” Draco looked away shyly, “Just a little nervous.”

“Draco. I’d be concerned if you weren't.” Potter reached out brushed a lock of hair out of Draco’s eyes, letting his fingers linger and gently card through his hair. “How about we get ready for bed, and once we’re there we can figure out what you feel like doing?”

“Okay,” Draco said with relief.

* * *

“So what position do you want?” Draco blurted as Harry approached the bed. He'd been thinking of little else as he’d peed and brushed his teeth. All his bravado from earlier in the evening had fled and he was having to force an air of confidence.

“Well…” Potter looked taken aback, “if it comes to it... I'd suggest you top me. Easier for a first time.”

Draco mind raced at the very thought of it, Potter was going to allow him to—

“But... if it's okay with you,” Potter tilted his head, smiling, “I'd prefer to begin with kissing and touching and just see how far we get.”

“You don't want to fuck?” _Was Potter babying him?_

“Well, sure I do,” Potter grinned, “but... _trust me,_ there are so many other things we can explore... There’s no rush. Why don't we start by getting you out of those clothes?”

He swallowed dryly as Potter began to unbutton his shirt. It felt more intimate than their frenzied kissing earlier and he trembled as Potter slid the shirt off his shoulders. His cock began to come to life from the grazing touches alone.

He summoned his courage and with shaky fingers started to do the same for Potter, gradually revealing a toned chest with a smattering of dark hair, and a flat abdomen with a downy trail of hair disappearing into his trousers. He ran his fingers experimentally through the fine hair on Potter's chest, fingernails catching lightly on his nipples.

Potter let out a soft moan, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

Greedy desire ignited within Draco and he grabbed Potter's waist pulling him flush against him. He shoved Potter's shirt off the rest of the way and then captured his mouth in a kiss, causing him to whimper.

“Tell me,” he pulled away panting, hands sliding down to the waistband of Potter's trousers, “Tell me what you'd like us to do. _Teach_ me.”

Potter sucked in a breath. “Fuck,” he exhaled heavily into Draco's mouth. “Fuck,” he said again, “you're a wet dream come true.”

Potter kissed him softly and slowly for a moment before saying, “Draco Malfoy, I'm going to make you feel so good. If you'll let me, I'd like to touch you and lick you and suck you until you come screaming my name. I know exactly how you like it; just wait and see.”

Draco felt dizzy with arousal and his cock strained determinedly against his chinos. “Fucking hell, Potter.”

“You like the sound of that?” Potter undid the button on Draco’s fly and pulled the zip down slowly, his wrist grazing deliciously over the taut bulge in Draco’s trousers.

Draco grabbed Potter by the sides of the head and pulled him close for another hungry kiss, sweeping his tongue along the soft seam of his lips, and curling his fingers through his unruly hair. He could get addicted to the tingle and buzz of kissing Potter. “I very much like the sound of that.”

Potter slid Draco’s trousers over his hips and they fell to the floor. “Then trust me. Let me look after you.”

Draco’s gut ached with arousal. “But I want to touch you too. To please _you_.”

“Oh you will. I promise.”

Potter slid his own trousers and pants off and there he was in front of Draco, naked. He was mesmerised by how fucking good Potter looked, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jutting out, the tip flushed a deep red, shining with precome. _He’s hard... for me._

Draco tentatively reached a hand in the direction of Potter’s cock. “Can I? Please.”

Potter took Draco’s hand in his, kissed each of his knuckles softly before guiding Draco’s hand to wrap around his cock. The air grew thicker in Draco’s lungs at the intimate gesture and he felt light-headed as his hand was guided slowly up and down Potter’s hard shaft. After a moment, Potter took his hand away and Draco continued the steady rhythm. He watched as Potter’s eyelids fluttered shut and his mouth went slack. _I’m making him feel good._ Joy bubbled up inside him and he increased the pace a little, eliciting a soft whimper from Potter.

Potter bucked his hips into Draco’s fist several times, and then stopped, putting his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “Okay, ah, that’s so good Draco. Just—let’s take it easy for a second. I don’t wanna— _well, fuck_ , you’re not even naked yet.”

Potter slipped his fingers under the elastic waistband of Draco's pants and deftly pulled them down, sinking down on his haunches as he did so; his face was eye level with Draco’s crotch as his cock sprang free and it thunked wetly into Potter’s cheek, depositing a shiny smear of precome. Draco tried not to feel self conscious as Potter raked his gaze up and down his naked body, darkened hungry eyes finally settling on his achingly hard cock, which twitched reflexively at the attention.

Potter removed his glasses and with a flick of his wrist they floated across to his nightstand. Draco trembled with want, heart racing as he realised what was to come. _He’s going to suck me. Potter’s going to suck my dick._

Potter adjusted his position so he was kneeling and Draco shuddered as soft hot lips pressed against the head of his cock. Potter opened his mouth and slowly, wetly, started to swallow Draco, pushing his tongue against the slit as he did so. Chills travelled through his balls and groin and Draco heard himself letting out a moan, guttural and uncontrolled.

He slipped his fingers into Potter’s hair, as he was taken in deep. As Potter pulled back, he swirled his tongue against the delicious spot right underneath the head that always made Draco whimper with need. _Merlin, the man_ does _know what I like._ He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, savouring every hot slippery sensation.

Potter sucked and swirled ravenously, and Draco’s whole body was ablaze. The lewd wet noises coming from Potter were causing him to flush red from the tip of his ears all the way down to his chest. It felt amazing, being completely enveloped by Potter like this, being sucked so hungrily and impossibly deep.

When he finally looked down at Potter, he was met with glistening green eyes filled with lust, staring right back up at him, mouth stretched wide and full as he devoured Draco’s cock. Potter’s hand massaged his balls and ruthlessly teased his perineum with an outstretched finger, dragging back and forth. He saw Potters other hand working himself furiously and a surge of burning pleasure rushed through him; he felt his climax building and tingling in his bloodstream. _Potter was sucking him off... and loving it… and Merlin, he wasn’t going to last at all._

He threaded his fingers tighter through Potters hair and Potter groaned needily, sending shockwaves through Draco. All thoughts left him as his balls tightened in Potter's palm and he shot wave after wave into Potter's eager mouth.

Potter swallowed every drop down thickly before pulling away from Draco with a whine, back stiffening and spurting silvery come over his own wrist.

“Fuck it, Potter, that was... incredible.” Draco gasped for breath.

Potter was on all fours panting, naked and spent. He looked up at Draco, lips red and swollen, mouth and chin wet with saliva, eyes shining with tears. “Yeah... Merlin... I’ve missed doing that.”

“Well, I’ll be happy to submit to more of that sort of thing, if it helps.” Draco smiled happily.

They moved to the bed and lay there, sated and blissed out, Draco resting his head on Potter’s chest, stroking the hair on his belly. Potter stroked Draco’s head, fingers caressing his blond locks.

“I don't know why,” Potter said, “but that felt more special to me than any of the other times. Not that they weren't all brilliant, but this felt… emotionally… more powerful… I can't really explain.”

“Probably because I'm hotter than that other guy.”

“Draco. That other guy is you. There is no _other guy_ ….” Potter frowned. “Or is there? Merlin, it's a mind fuck”

“Speaking of fuck…” Draco teased, “I'm still owed one.”

“What are you bloody like!” Potter thwacked his head playfully and rolled his eyes. “Always about the penetration. Fucking _seriously_?”

Draco laughed. “I _am_ serious.”

“Merlin,” Potter whistled, “so you really want me to pop your cherry?”

“Sod off!” Draco prodded him in the belly button, causing Potter to giggle. “Don't make it sound so... _virginal_.”

“It's ironic actually… me being your first. Sort of mental.”

Draco moved his head around to look at Potter. “How so?”

“When we—after I came out. You were my first.” Potter nodded at Draco’s wide-eyed expression. “Yep. You took _my_ gay virginity. _You_ were the experienced one. And now...”

“That was after… after you and Ginevra broke up.”

“Yeah,” Potter said through a stifled yawn.

Potter said nothing more, but Draco had a feeling he would tell him about it soon. He ran his fingers through Potter's hair. So thick and soft and… _Potter-y_. His chest felt fuzzy and bright.

He let a comfortable silence settle around them as he rhythmically caressed a strand of Potter's hair. Soon Potter's breathing slowed and his head slipped sideways to rest on Draco’s shoulder. As sleep began to gradually take possession of Draco’s consciousness, he wondered if _this_ is what love felt like.


	20. Jayus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, so much, to my hard-working beta [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/). Without him, this fic would have been consigned to a dumpster fire.

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355209765290005/25_days_1_zps7q65wqhr.jpg)

**Jayus.** Indonesian. n. _This refers to a joke so terrible and so unfunny that you cannot help but laugh._

Draco awoke before Potter and cast a quick Tempus. It was 6am, way too early to be getting up and, thank Merlin, Ginevra wouldn't be bringing the children around for another few hours.

He gazed indulgently on Potter’s sleeping form. This all felt so right now. How could he have resisted it?

He trailed a finger down Potter’s bare back, enjoying the feeling of _hard-smooth-softness_ , the dips and furrows where muscles and bone lay, the ridges of his spine. His fingers moved lower to delicately trace the gentle swell of Potter’s arse. This arse he’d been obsessing over since he’d first seen it shifting about in penguin pyjamas in time to _My Humps._

Potter stirred.

“Oi, that tickles.”

Draco snickered. “I’ve been wanting to touch this arse for days... weeks. Let me enjoy it.”

Potter laughed and wiggled his arse about. “Well then, don’t be shy, you can have a proper feel.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice and placed his palms flat on Potter’s creamy cheeks, circling and massaging. _Fuck, it feels just as good as I imagined._ He felt an urgent swell of longing in his groin.

“Potterrr,” he whined, teasingly, “I want to—Remember you said—Can we—? Pleeease?”

Potter turned to face him, eyebrows up. “Of course. As long as you’re sure that’s what you really want.”

“I’m sure. Very fucking sure.” Draco hesitated for a moment. “Do _you_ want to?”

Potter waved a hand towards his dick, “Clearly.” It was standing to attention and looking just as mouth-watering as it had the day before. Draco’s own rigid cock twitched against his stomach at the sight. “You have _never_ failed to get my dick hard Draco. In fact, it gets hard just thinking about you _quite_ a lot.”

Heat rose through Draco and he moved in the bed towards Potter, put his hand behind his neck to pull him closer and kissed him needily. Potter grabbed his arse and pulled their bodies together and _yes oh fuck_ their cocks rubbed against each other hotly.

Draco trailed his fingers along the cleft of Potter’s arse, gently probing its warm depth. “Tell me what I need to do... to... to get you ready.”

Potter exhaled heavily. “Fuck, _why_ is this so hot? Okay, there are a few spells, cleaning and protection, but I can cast them. There’s also a lubrication spell.”

“I’m familiar with that one,” Draco smirked.

Potter rolled his eyes. “Well of course, all teenage boys learn the lube spell at some point. So okay, you’ll need to cast that over your fingers. Wait, let me do mine and get comfortable,” Potter murmured a few quick, wandless spells Draco wasn't familiar with and grabbed a pillow, placing it under his lower back, “Okay.”

Draco rolled over to the edge of the bed and grabbed his wand. He muttered “ _Lubricus_ ,” and his fingers were instantly coated. He positioned himself kneeling between Potter’s bent knees and looked down at the muscled body spread out before him. He couldn't quite believe this was actually happening. Potter lifted his knees towards his chest and Draco stared, frozen, as Potter’s puckered opening came into view. It seemed _impossible_ that he would fit in there; it was so small and pink and tight.

“So, er, I’ll just go for it then, shall I?” he quavered.

“Yeah. There’s no rush, just take it slow.”

Draco rubbed a slippery finger against Potter’s hole and he was overwhelmed with the erotic intimate sensation of it. He circled around the furrowed skin and then pressed lightly against the centre.

“Oh gods, yeah, Draco, like that.”

“Y-yeah?” Draco stuttered.

“Yeah. Now, push in, gently.”

Draco pushed and his finger slid in. Potter hissed and his hand slipped down to his own cock, and he began to wank himself slowly.

Draco felt giddy. His finger was _inside_ Potter, and Potter felt so hot and tight, gripping around him. He moved his slick finger in and out several times and after a few spasms he felt Potter relaxing around him.

After a moment Potter asked for another finger and Draco gingerly pressed a second one in. Potter jerked and moaned as he did, and Draco’s cock leaked a thick drop of precome in anticipation of sinking into that molten heat.

Potter hitched up his hips, fucking himself on Draco's fingers as he stroked himself. It was the hottest thing Draco had ever seen and he had to grip his cock tightly to stop himself from spilling his load there and then.

He sensed Potter loosening further as he ground himself against Draco's twisting fingers. Draco curled a finger experimentally, searching, feeling, until _bingo,_ Potter shuddered, “Fuck, Draco, nggggh.”

Draco was so captivated by Potter’s writhing body, the moans he was making, and that _he_ was the one getting Potter so whipped up in pleasure, that he almost didn’t hear Potter chanting, “I’m ready, I’m ready, Draco, Draco, now.”

Draco’s cock was so hard it ached. “Now? Can I?” he said uncertainly.

“Yeah. Need you... in me.” He was breathing short and fast. “Don’t forget... lube.”

Draco removed his fingers and, hands shaking a little from nerves, he slicked lube along his hard length and positioned himself at Potter’s glistening opening. His heart thumped as he pressed firmly against it, hand steadying himself on Potter’s hip, still hardly believing that he would fit in there. He felt Potter huff a breath and his muscles relaxed infinitesimally further, just enough for the head of Draco’s cock to slip inside. Fuck _FUCK fuck. I’m inside Potter._ The blistering heat was mind-blowing.

“That’s it, Draco. Fuck. You’re doing great,” Potter murmured, pulling his legs further up by the knees, and then resting his ankles on Draco’s shoulders, “just take it slow.”

Draco pressed deeper and deeper into the tight heat of Potter’s body, one slow inch at a time, in small rocking thrusts, pausing to take breaths lest he pass out from the sensations of Potter’s arse clinging to his cock. Potter’s breath was also coming in harsh pants as Draco eased in, and his hand had stilled on his own cock. Potter was whispering small encouragements: _‘Yes Draco’ ... ‘That’s it, babe’ ... ‘Keep going’ ... ‘Feels so good.’_

Eventually Draco’s hipbones rested against Potter’s arse, and Draco let out a ragged moan, shaking and sweating with need. _Oh gods I’m in. I'm right inside_. He dropped forward to capture Potter’s lips, sliding his tongue deep into his mouth, and the contact sent shivers of pleasure across his skin.

“You feel so fucking amazing,” he panted into Potter’s mouth.

Potter reached around and grabbed his arse. “It’ll feel even better once you start moving,” and he rocked his hips slightly. Draco moaned softly at the sensation, pulled back a little, and began to thrust slowly into the tight furnace of Potter’s body.

It was incredible, better than Draco had ever dreamed it would be: Potter’s body tight and burning around him; his needy moans and breathless pants syncing with Draco’s; the scent of sex and sweat filling the air; Potter’s hand, hot and strong on his arse, squeezing and pulling Draco deeper and deeper into him; the sound of skin slapping against skin; the sweet salty taste of Potter’s skin as Draco kissed and licked his way along his shoulder and neck.

He had never felt so nakedly wanting, and had never imagined Potter quite like this, even in his most sordid fantasies: looking so utterly gorgeous and debauched, eyes wild, messy hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed. He must have faltered in his rhythm then, because Potter whimpered, “Draco, please... don't stop,” before rocking his arse hard against him, one hand slipping back down to his heavy cock to bring it some relief.

Draco redoubled his efforts, kissing hot skin and thrusting harder, beginning to lose control at the greedy pull of Potter’s body; so welcoming and incredibly hot and tight around him. It was as if all of Potter’s magic was being channeled through his slick arse into Draco’s cock, and was now thundering wildly through his veins and he wondered if he could drown from the onslaught of pleasure. He curled his fingers into a fist, fingernails cutting into his palm, to distract himself from orgasm.

But a sweet tension was beginning to coil in his muscles, and a heat was growing deep in his belly. Potter reached a hand up to tug on Draco’s hair and pull him down into a desperate needy kiss. Seconds later, Potter tore his lips away, quivered and jerked in Draco’s arms as hot come cascaded over his hand and stomach. His body tightened around Draco, and his fingers gripped Draco’s hair harder, and that, coupled with the sound of Potter’s rough cry, had Draco’s balls drawing up tight, helplessly hurtling him towards release as Potter clung to him.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _Harry!_ ” he cried as his cock pulsed deep inside Potter over and over and over and.... then.... oblivion.

Draco came to and realised he’d collapsed on top of Potter. He pulled out with a wince and took a shaky breath. He looked down at the wonderful man beneath him, eyes dazed and cheeks flushed and everywhere damp and sticky.

"Potter—" he croaked, suddenly unsure of what to say, feeling vulnerable and raw.

“ _Harry_ ,” he said then, because it felt right.

Harry smiled at him, a smile that melted Draco’s very soul, and he caressed Draco’s face.

Nothing Draco had experienced in his life had ever felt quite so good as this. And it wasn’t just the sex.

He collapsed back into Harry’s embrace, his ragged breaths slowing as Harry, Harry bloody Potter, held Draco to his heart, mumbled a cleaning spell, then quietly stroked his back as they dissolved into a gentle slumber.

* * *

The high pitched strains of Scorpius and Albus belting _‘What's the story Balamory, wouldn't you like to know?!’_ roused them from their sex-drunk stupor.

"Shit, what time is it!?" Harry said, leaping out of bed and pulling on his Christmas PJs, "Don't tell me Gin's dropped the kids off early!"

Draco groaned. In the distance, he could hear Lily squealing for Penny—no doubt chasing the niffler around—and something crashed loudly in the hallway.

Harry pulled on Draco’s arm to coax him out of bed. "Come on, lover-boy, let's go face the day. We need to attend to whatever disasters are currently unfolding in the sitting room. Plus,” Harry smirked evilly, “I have a fun idea for us today and we’ll need a hearty, healthy breakfast."

“Salazar, you are such a fucking morning person,” Draco groused, but he was unable to keep the smile from his face.

* * *

The ‘fun idea’ turned out to be ice-skating and for a long second Draco was seriously reconsidering this whole ‘happy family’ deal.

“Harry, this is ridiculous. I do _not_ skate!”

“Oh nonsense, you'll be _fine_.”

Draco was _not_ fine. Once in the ill-fitting skates he slipped and wobbled around the ice like a baby deer. It did _not_ help that the snow was growing heavier with each passing minute.

The kids, however had a blast.

Sure, they fell over almost as much as Draco, but they seemed to be able to right themselves a lot easier. _And_ progress a lot faster. James, Albus and Scorpius were flying around like figure skaters after about fifteen minutes. Harry was busily skating backwards— _backwards for Merlin’s sake_ —pulling a squealing Lily around the rink with him. On the fifth time Draco crashed on his arse, James whizzed over to him, skidding to a halt with a spray of ice in Draco's face.

He surveyed Draco's gangly crumpled form. “As the wise Scooby Doo says: _Ruh-roh_.” He held his hand out to Draco. “I think you’re just a bit too stiff Mr. Malfoy, you need to relax.”

“Thank you for that, James,” Draco sighed, gripping his hand as he pulled himself up to standing. At least the boy had dropped the damn pirate-speak, thank Godric for small mercies.

After that he sensibly clung to the sides of the rink, until Potter skated over and held out his hand, “Come on Bambi, let’s go get a snack. I’m craving some sugar and salt after all that activity.”

“May I remove the ice-blades of death now?”

“Yes, Draco, you may,” Harry laughed, wiping snowflakes off Draco’s scrunched up nose.

As he unlaced the skates Draco continued grumbling, “It is just _unnatural_ to slide around a sheet of frozen water with only a thin piece of metal attached to your feet.” Harry seemed to find the whole thing far too amusing, the git.

They got the kids out of their skates and into their warm dry shoes. Draco had to re-tie Scorpius’s trainers several times because he hadn’t done the laces _quite right._ He grumbled to himself, Harry wasn’t wrong about the boy being particular about his shoes.

They took a booth in the cheery cafeteria attached to the ice rink. It took a few minutes for the waitress to come over and the children were starting to get restless, pulling all the serviettes out of the dispenser and climbing all over the red leather banquette.

“Hello there. Sorry about your wait,” she smiled at them.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” scowled Harry, and thankfully, after a tense second, the waitress laughed along with James and Draco.

“Good one, Dad,” James grinned.

After they’d ordered crisps, peanuts, popcorn and some fizzy drinks, James added, “I heard a joke in school yesterday: Why do cats prefer wizards to goblins?”

“I don’t know James,” said Harry. “Why _do_ cats prefer wizards to goblins?”

“Because...” he paused for effect, “they like _sorcerers_ of milk!”

Draco and Harry groaned at the same time.

“That’s the worst joke ever,” grumbled Albus.

“That’s only because you don’t get it. Wait I’ve got another: What happened to the naughty wizard at Hogwarts?”

“Don’t know,” said Albus.

“He was ex- _spelled_.” James played air drums on the table and Albus threw a balled up serviette at his head. Scorpius scrunched another serviette up, ready.

“I know one,” ventured Draco. “How many tickles does it take to make the Great Squid laugh?” James looked at him blankly. Draco smiled and wiggled his fingers at him, “ _Ten_ -tickles.”

James, Harry and Albus, and even Scorpius cracked up laughing. Lily clapped along cheerily, and Draco's ears went pink with pleasure.

The waitress brought their drinks and snacks and they all dived in happily, ravenous after the exertion on the rink.

Harry began in on the jokes again after the waitress left. “Did I ever tell you, when I was at Hogwarts I honestly thought there were 25 letters in the alphabet. I don’t know why.”

“Tell us,” said Albus, through a mouthful of crisps.

“No, that _is_ the joke, Al, _‘why’_ as in the letter?” Harry frowned, again reaching for the buttery popcorn.

“Why?” asked Lily. “Why, daddy?”

“Oh Merlin,” said Draco. “Well what about this one? The fattest knight at King Arthur’s round table was Sir Cumference. He apparently had too much pi.”

Draco was met with a row of puzzled faces. “Hmmph, I take it none of you have studied Arithmancy?”

“No. D’uh. I’m five years old,” said Albus.

“Albus, don’t be rude,” Potter chided.

“Sorry Mr. Malfoy. Oh, oh, I’ve got one: What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?” He grinned and chirped, “Frostbite!”

“Aww that’s adorable,” chuckled Draco, noticing Scorpius giggling uncontrollably and clutching Albus's arm.

“How about this one?” Harry asked grabbing another fistful of popcorn. “Did you know that the wizards in Hawaii are a lot friendlier than the Muggles?” When no one answered he went on, “Yeah, they say _Aloha-mora_ often.”

Draco snorted and gave him a shove, “That was _terrible_.” He smirked mischievously and held up a peanut. “Breaking news. Two peanuts were walking down the street. One was a salted.”

"Okay, no way, _that's_ the worst!" Harry was practically in tears, "Merlin, how on—"

"Dad!" James whined. "We want to build a snowman!" He already had his coat, hat and gloves on and was winding his scarf around his neck.

"Snowman!" Albus parroted, pulling his hat on, "And somebody ate all the food!"

" _You_ ate the food!" Scorpius said, as Albus helped him with his coat, "and Jamie!"

"We _all_ ate the food," Harry laughed, buttoning up Lily’s coat and helping her with her gloves. "Sure, go and build a snowman—"

The three boys cheered in unison, shoving out of the booth and heading for the door, Lily trailing behind them.

"— _together_. And let your sister help!" he called out after them.

Draco sighed, "All jokes aside, Potter, you've got this _parenting thing_ pretty figured out by the looks of it."

"Thanks," Potter blushed briefly, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Speaking of jokes, how on earth do you have no memory of having a child but still know all these dad-jokes? Surely not from your own father?"

Draco laughed, “Salazar, no. Could you imagine? No, my Uncle Lanval. He used to come visit my father occasionally and he would get tipsy on elven wine and tell me jokes until my sides split. He was a good man, if a little promiscuous with the women.”

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him before. Or cracking so many awful jokes,” Harry’s voice went low. “I really like this ‘you’.”

Draco swallowed and smiled shyly, heart aflutter. “Yeah? I’m doing okay?”

“Yeah babe, you really are.” Draco felt a movement under the table. “Oh, wow, how’d my hand find yours? Weird, huh?” Harry had slid his hand along Draco’s arm under the table and slipped his fingers into Draco’s and was now gazing at him adoringly.

“Harry,” Draco narrowed his eyes, “Did you seriously just wipe your buttery popcorn fingers all along my arm?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oops.”

“This is a Brunello Cucinelli cashmere cable knit sweater! Scourgify will be woefully inadequate. I sincerely hope you know some Muggle technique to get grease out, otherwise it is ruined!”

Harry wiped his hands sheepishly on a serviette. “Yeah, I do.” He huffed a sigh, reached for his Fanta, and took a noisy slurp through the straw. “Merlin, you’re not _that_ different from the other you after all.”


	21. Cwtch

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355254736748584/25_days_4_zpsmxg1o3mp.jpg)

**Cwtch**. Welsh. n. _This word has two definitions: 1. a cupboard or cubbyhole. 2. a cuddle or hug. As a hug, a ‘cwtch’ is evocative. It has the magical quality of transporting someone back to the safety of their childhood. This corresponds with the word’s other meaning, which is a place to safely store things. If you give someone a ‘cwtch’, you're figuratively giving them a ‘safe place’. Snuggling and cuddling and loving and protecting and safeguarding and claiming, all rolled into one._

It was Monday. There was a week left until Christmas and, as Draco lounged by the fire after dinner, his thoughts turned to what gift to buy for Harry. His plan had been to put it off until the amnesia was cured, but now he realised he’d actually have to come up with something without the help of their shared history.

He quickly dismissed the idea of Legilimency. Expeditious as it might be, he was sure Harry would be quite skilled in Occlumency having been an Auror for ten years. In any case, Draco had no desire to intrude on Harry's thoughts in such an invasive fashion. Being his boyfriend didn't give him the right to know every pain and doubt, to rummage through the wreckage of his head. Some scars are invisible; Draco knew Harry must bear more than just the one on his forehead.

He’d tried subtly asking the children, but they’d been no help. Unless... Draco paused and sipped his tea. Unless he had Harry all wrong and he really _did_ want a Nerf gun and a Batman costume?

He came to the conclusion he’d just have to watch him like a Snidget all week and then rush to the shops when inspiration hit him.

At least he knew what Scorpius wanted. He and Harry had made a special trip to Toys ’R' Us that morning to collect Scorpius' gifts, as well as gifts from them both for the Potter kids. The trip had been an experience in itself, the first time he’d ever used Muggle money. The pentagonal twenty pence piece reminded him of those ghastly Divination lessons he’d been forced to endure. Trelawney's quivering voice floated back to him: ‘ _A pentagon in the centre of the teacup heralds tough times ahead due to poor decisions you yourself have made. Time is running out young Malfoy. You are in grave danger’._ Ludicrous woman. It was bizarre how he could easily remember fatuous drivel like that and not some of the most important memories in his life.

And on the subject of Scorpius, Draco had gone to see the teacher that afternoon to discuss the Charles bully, who that very morning had tripped Scorpius up in the playground and he’d cut his knee badly. The teacher had agreed to keep them separate as much as possible and to speak to the child's parents. Draco had taken Scorpius to Fortescue’s for an ice-cream after school and told him that there wasn’t a thing Papa and Daddy Harry wouldn’t do to protect him and keep him safe. Scorpius had thrown his arms around Draco and the magical tingling warmth he felt was more than enough to distract him from the chocolate ice-cream dripping from Scorpius’s spoon onto his Ralph Lauren angora cardigan sleeve.

* * *

On Tuesday he spent a morning going through more pictures of him, Potter and Scorpius. Now that he'd made his mind up about what he wanted from this inherited life, he was determined to make it work. He found little moving photos— _videos_ , Harry called them—of Scorpius dressed as a sunflower dancing at a school play, of Harry blowing out candles on a cake and then winking at the camera, and of a turquoise-haired boy he didn't recognise arm-wrestling Harry and Harry letting him win.

Harry told him the boy was called Teddy and was related to Draco. A cousin of some sort, the grandchild of his Aunt Andromeda. Draco was intrigued, and Harry laughed and informed him he'd meet Teddy on Christmas Day at the Burrow.

“Wait, what?” asked Draco. “We're having Christmas with the Weasleys? You never mentioned that before!”

“I must have. Surely.” Harry said.

“That is something I would definitely remember. _Therefore,_ it is most certainly something I've forgotten... er, if you know what I mean.” Draco’s brow furrowed. “Don't I spend Christmas with Mother?”

“Um, you hadn't planned to. I think you’d said she was spending Christmas with an acquaintance from the local village. And something about seeing her at New Year’s instead.”

“Oh,” Draco said, deflated, and Harry put his arms around him and kissed his shoulder.

* * *

Draco was delighted by the stirling progress he was making on the jumper for Penny. He’d finished the back section and the underpiece, and all that was left was to assemble it. Easier said than done as it required a good deal of measuring and sewing, but by Wednesday he’d manage to finish it.

Just as he put the finished jumper down, Harry entered the room singing _‘My muffins bring all the boys to the yard’_ and brandishing a plate of hummingbird muffins. He set them down on the table and proclaimed, “For you, my handsome prince.”

Draco greedily took a bite of a warm muffin and moaned at the luscious banana and juicy pineapple bursting in his mouth. “Acceptable,” he pronounced, “You may continue to woo me with off-key singing and baked goods. Surprisingly, it appears to be working.”

Harry flopped down on the sofa and wrapped Draco in a cuddle. “I love you, Draco,” he sighed happily, nuzzling into his neck.

“Oi, watch the knitting needles in my lap! Merlin, you’re a danger!”

But _really_ Draco had never felt safer in his whole life.

* * *

Draco’s desire for Harry had grown rapidly since their date; he simply couldn't get enough of touching and tasting Harry’s body. Draco had grown in confidence since then; they'd had sex a couple more times and each time had been just as incredible as the last. He found he was really enjoying discovering exactly what Harry liked, how to angle his thrusts just so to make him squirm and writhe and gasp in ecstasy. When he sucked Harry’s cock for the first time on Thursday night, he could scarcely believe how hot it made him. He'd started off so tentatively but, when he'd seen and heard the unearthly reactions coming from Harry, he’d zealously picked up the pace and when Harry finally came in his mouth gripping Draco's head and shouting unintelligibly, he knew he wanted to do this with no other man. Only Harry.

He had yet to be on the receiving end of sex; in truth, he felt a little anxious at the thought of bottoming, of something as large as Potter's cock being forced inside him. Seeing how much Potter enjoyed it—Salazar, it sent the man into raptures—was making him more and more curious to try. _Soon_ , he thought, and a fun idea started to take root.

But it wasn't just the sex that had Draco’s feelings for Harry intensifying—far from it. It was the whole growing sense of closeness: the safe feeling of being protected—even if it was just reminding Draco to wear a scarf; the fierce pride he felt when Harry accomplished something—even if it was just unblocking the sink; the warm feeling he got when he made Harry smile—even if it was just because Draco couldn’t figure out how to change the channel on the TV; or the way Harry treated Scorpius and Penny as though they were both his own children—even if it was just cuddling up to them on the sofa.

* * *

By Friday he finally had an idea of what to get for Harry and headed off to Diagon Alley in the morning to make some purchases. Afterwards he met Bill for a coffee at The Dark Tarts and gave him a special item to take to the Burrow for safe-keeping, along with some care instructions.

That evening saw Scorpius off for a sleepover at his friend Ralph’s. Draco and Harry prepared a tasty meal together: chicken tikka masala, pilau rice, and peshwari naan bread. Harry put out various accompaniments: sweet mango chutney, hot lime pickle and cool raita, and they dug in greedily. They'd added extra chillies, what with having no Scorpius to complain, but before long Draco was sweating a little and he was starting to lose the feeling in his lips. Harry brought him a glass of milk to cool his mouth and then gave him a kiss on the top of the head just because.

“We could do anything tonight,” said Harry, after they'd washed up and were snuggled up on the sofa, “Go out to the cinema, maybe grab a few drinks somewhere, even,” he waggled his eyebrows, “nightclubbing again... _Or_ we could do what we normally do on a Friday night and sit in our jammies and watch YouTube?”

Draco grinned and cuddled further into Harry, inhaling his scent, woodsy and appley and Indian-spicey. “Jammies and YouTube sounds perfect, as long as you wear those red penguin ones. They’re my favourite.”

* * *

Before he knew it, it was Christmas Eve and almost bedtime. Harry had made all the children—and the grown ups—hot chocolates with marshmallows. Draco was tickled by the snowman faces Harry had put on the marshmallows with little drops of melted chocolate and also by the generous splash of rum he'd added to the adult’s drinks.

Albus was in the middle of telling a story about how high he'd managed to jump on the trampoline during P.E. the day before when he managed to knock his mug over while gesticulating. He burst into tears.

“Dude,” said James, “Chill _out_. Merlin, you cry over everything.”

“No, I don’t,” Albus sobbed.

“You cried when a fly you called your ‘friend’ flew out of the window this morning.”

“Yeah, but I really liked Frieda.”

“Al, it was a _fly_!”

Al sniffed and pouted and Harry quickly fixed him another hot chocolate.

“I’m Bertie Botts every flavour of done with you, James,” Albus said crossly.

Scorpius laughed out loud. “Albie, you're so super funny when you're cross! I love you.”

Albus’s face turned pink as Scorpius wrapped his arms around him. Draco took a gulp of his rum-laced chocolate and exchanged a look of fatherly pride with Harry.

* * *

Soon it was bedtime, but the kids were still buzzing with excitement—and sugar.

No sooner had Draco and Harry gone downstairs when they heard, “Rock, paper, scissors to see who gets up and turns off the light.”

Harry stomped upstairs to turn the light _back_ off and Draco heard him warn, “No more pillow fights! You broke a lampshade last time.” The children continued to babble quietly after Harry came back down and Draco was convinced that they’d never settle down, but not five minutes later all went quiet and the two dads heaved a sigh of relief.

“Another busy day with the monsters,” Harry laughed, putting his arms around Draco, “how we got them to bed with all the excitement of tomorrow is nothing short of a miracle.”

 _You're the miracle, Harry_ , Draco thought. He was everything Draco had ever wanted and he was struck, not for the first time that week, with the certainty of his depth of feeling for this man. It scared him and thrilled him at the same time and he wanted to shout it out loud.

Draco paused and pressed his face into Harry's neck.

“I love you.” It came out as a whisper, and he was suddenly anxious that maybe it was too soon to use that word. It had been less than a month, but Draco knew in his heart it was true. The love he felt for Harry filled him up in the most wholesome way imaginable.

“You love me? Really?” Harry asked, astonished. He studied Draco and tilted his head. “Are you sure it’s not just the mind-blowing sex going to your head?”

Harry laughed playfully but Draco looked at him like he was the entire world and Harry stuttered, “Y-you’re fucking serious.”  
  
Draco placed a kiss on Harry's forehead as he stroked his messy hair. “Yes. I’m one hundred per cent fucking serious, Harry.” He had never felt this way about somebody and it was... oddly _relieving_.  
  
Then Draco took Harry's cheeks into his hands and placed a sweet kiss to his lips. When he pulled away Harry tried to chase his lips with his own.  
  
They stared at each other, unmoving, for several seconds. Draco idly wondered what the universe had in store for them now, if he would be allowed to hold on to this, this most perfect feeling, this most perfect life.  
  
“Well,” Draco began, “actually, the sex might have been a factor—"  
  
Harry smacked his upper arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Perhaps. But I do love you.”

Harry grinned widely. “That's so fucking amazing to hear.”

“Despite being rather obsessed with you at school, I honestly never thought that Fate would have us end up together.”

“Yeah, me neither... _back then._ But you know,” said Harry, finger pressed to his lip in thought, “Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don’t always like.”

“What?! That makes no fucking sense,” Draco laughed. “Wait... Another _Lemony whatsit_ quote?”

“Um, yeah. Lemony Snicket.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ve clearly been a dad far too long.”

“Fuck. Come here.” Draco dragged him into a protective bear hug. _Mine_ , he thought, and he didn't let go for a long time.


	22. Gezellig

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355317718155284/25_days_8_zps91k7fa4f.png)

**Gezellig**. Dutch. Adj. _Describes much more than just cosiness - a positive warm emotion or feeling rather than just something physical - and connotes time spent with loved ones, togetherness._

A prod in his side. _Oh, what the fuck is it now?_

“Happy Christmas!!”

Draco moved his head to squint at Harry. His gorgeous smiling morning-person Harry. “Yeah. Happy Christmas,” he mumbled.

“Let's get ready. We need to be at the Burrow in an hour.”

As they got dressed Draco asked, “So... _all_ the Weasleys will be there?” He really meant Ginevra but didn’t want to be too obvious.

“Yeah. Except Charlie, he's staying in Romania. Good thing too, you always fancied him.”

“I did? Well fuck. It's a damn shame he won't be there.”

Harry whacked Draco with the t-shirt he was holding.

 _Fuck it, I’ll just ask_. “Ginevra will be there?”

Harry said nothing. Draco finished buttoning his shirt.

 _I might as well keep pushing. In for a knut..._ “Why don't you tell me?”

“Ah, it’s just—It’s still painful...”

Draco reached for Harry’s hand.

“I hurt her.” He dropped his head. “Fuck, I hurt everyone I love. Just look at the scars on your chest.”

 _Oh this won’t do._ “Harry... Let go.”

Harry stared at him, confused.

“Bill told me. About the sacrifice you made. In the Forest.” Draco looked into his eyes. “You did what you had to do. You were still a kid. You _literally_ saved the world. You’re allowed to make a few mistakes.”

Harry gulped. “I loved her. I really did. I still do in a way.”

“Of course,” said Draco, putting his arm around Harry’s shoulder.

Harry melted into his embrace and took a breath, “After Lily was born I... I started to question if I was really being me. I’d always been attracted to men, just never been open with anyone about it. I dunno, like, I’d always felt _content_ with Ginny, but it was like I was holding back _something_. I felt like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece, so no one, not even me, could ever see the full picture. I don’t know, maybe that makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Harry. You were coming to terms with your sexuality.”

“And when the first question came into my head, _more_ started arriving. Was I _really_ happy? What did I want? Could I keep pretending? I opened up to Ginny but she was convinced I was just going through ‘a phase’. So…” he heaved a breath, “So, for some reason, I felt had to prove to her—and to myself—that it _wasn’t_. I was stupid, unthinking. I went to a gay bar, and met—well, you don’t need all the details, but it ended up with a moving photo of me in The Prophet dancing with a man, like, you know, _sexy_ dancing. Merlin, it was mortifying. She was devastated of course and we fought bitterly for several days before I moved out.”

“Oh Harry,” Draco kissed his temple lightly.

“I didn’t even snog the bloke, but she saw it as cheating. It was toughest on the kids though. Trying to explain to a four year old and a two year old why Daddy’s not going to live with them anymore. I mean they’re fine now, children are so much more resilient than people give them credit for, but it was a really tough time for all of us. Especially Gin looking after a newborn baby. We get on alright now, but she’s never really forgiven me. We used to be best friends.”

“I’m so sorry,” Draco said, “It must be rough falling out with someone you’ve been so close to.”

“Yeah. It really is,” Harry murmured. Then he took a big heaving breath, forced a watery smile, and said, “Right. Enough moping. It’s Christmas bloody Day.”

* * *

When they stumbled through the Floo, Draco holding Scorpius’s hand and clinging to a trembling Penny, and Harry clutching the Christmas pudding and a tupperware of mince pies, they were assaulted by all the sounds, sights and smells of a Burrow Christmas.

Draco had never been in such a charming and cosy home, and he felt a rush of guilt for having described it as a hovel several times. Merlin, he used to be such a pompous prat. How he’d changed already in little over three weeks.

They all submitted to crushing hugs from Molly and Hermione, and solid handshakes from Arthur and the rest of the Weasley clan. Draco felt a little awkward shaking Ronald’s hand, but he needn’t have worried; the ginger third of the Golden Trio made him feel at ease, clapping him on the back and asking how he was doing and if he’d _really_ forgotten everything or was it a ploy to get out of the ten Galleons he owed him from losing some chess game. Even Ginevra greeted him with “Merry Christmas, Malfoy,” and a brisk handshake.

The adults fussed over Scorpius and Penny for a moment and then several more children—a disproportionate number of them ginger-haired—came rushing into the kitchen. A girl who looked like a mini-Hermione attack-hugged Scorpius in a manner not dissimilar to her mother, and he ended up with several strands of her hair in his mouth.

“Come in, come in and sit down at the table, dinner’s almost ready,” urged Molly. Just then the Floo surged to life. “Oh excellent, here come the last of the guests. Just in time.”

Draco looked up and instantly recognised the blue-haired teenage boy from the photograph, and not two seconds later, little James barrelled into him shouting “Teddyyyy!”

Then Draco’s breath caught as he saw who he thought was his Aunt Bellatrix approaching. On a second look he realised it wasn’t her; her eyes had none of the harshness and her hair was lighter in colour and tamed into a soft loose bun. Then she stepped aside and he gasped to see his mother standing there, elegantly brushing soot off her lavender robes.

“Mother!” he exclaimed. He turned to Harry. “What—? How—?”

Harry grinned. “I saw how upset you looked the other day, so I arranged with Molly to invite your mother over for the day. I hope you don’t mind me going behind your back.”

“No, not at all. That was so thoughtful.” He cradled Harry’s cheeks with his hands and planted a quick kiss on his lips before striding over to embrace his mother. He was curious when he felt a faint rush of magic sweep through him.

Narcissa advised him that the lady was his Aunt Andromeda, and he graciously accepted a hug from her too. She assured him not to worry, that she’d been told all about what had happened to him and to ask her any questions he wanted to.

He turned to Teddy, who greeted him with a soft thump on the shoulder.

“Merry Christmas, ya chundering tit-pony,” Teddy said warily.

Luckily Harry had apprised Draco on his and Teddy’s affectionate tradition of greeting each other with ever weirder and more creative insults.

“Merry Christmas yourself, you dribbling arse-spanner,” said Draco, and Teddy snorted delightedly, hair tips turning pink.

“You remember! No... wait, Harry told you.”

Draco laughed, “Yes,” then lowered his voice, “So, fill me in here. Is this gig gonna be fun or not?”

Teddy chuckled, “The adults always seem to enjoy it, probably ‘cause they get pissed. And the little kids too, well ‘cause _toys_. Am I gonna have fun?” he shrugged, “Probably not, I’m thirteen. But do I have headphones? You bet your arse I do.”

Draco laughed. He could see he was going to have a lot of fun with Teddy.

A clanging spoon on a tin pot alerted them to dinner being served so Draco quickly took his seat in between his mother and Harry, while Molly levitated all the steaming dishes and platters to the table. He noticed that Penny was happily eating a dish of gravy-covered brussel sprouts in the corner of the kitchen, and made a mental note to give her some anti-flatulence potion when they got home.

He could tell Mother was a little nervous having never spent much time with the Weasleys before and also because of how vastly different this was to a Manor Christmas. However he was proud to see that she was making a real effort, chatting politely with Fleur and Bill, helping Scorpius, who was sitting on her other side, to cut up his turkey and potatoes, and complimenting Molly on her excellent cooking.

As he was expecting, the conversation eventually turned to his amnesia. With Bill and Hermione’s help he filled everyone in on details of the curse and what it meant for him. His mother was horrified and confessed she’d always despised his Uncle Rodolphus, and thought him an immoral scoundrel. This got a few cheers and clinking glasses from around the table and his mother’s cheeks pinked ever so slightly.

* * *

After what could only be described as a fabulous Christmas dinner, he noticed Harry and Ginevra slipping off into the sitting room together while everyone else helped clear up. He thought she’d looked quite relaxed and happy during dinner so Draco was hopeful that there was no trouble brewing.

Hermione sidled up to him and asked him how he was really doing, and he insisted he was well. She then informed him that she'd had a look into the touch sensations he’d been experiencing and the findings were interesting.

They took a seat at the kitchen table and Bill joined them with a glass of wine for each of them.

“What I learned is that, due to the separation of the different systems within a wizard’s body—the magical core versus the normal biological systems that we share with Muggles—that altering one does not necessarily make the same alterations to the others.”

“I don’t follow,” said Draco.

“Okay. So the curse-magic worked on the limbic system in your brain to disconnect it from all memories within the parameters of the curse. Your nervous system processes touch signals via the brain, so, because of the curse, you shouldn't have sensory or muscle memory any longer. For example, if you’d learned the piano when you were twenty, you wouldn't retain the muscle memory to play it now. _However_ ,” she placed her hands on the table and leaned forward, “although the memory connections to your brain have been severed, your magical core and your heart still have some links to memory. _Certain_ touch sensations appear to be able to bypass the brain and forge connections to the heart or to a wizard’s magical core.”

“So you’re saying my heart remembers Harry when I touch him?”

“Something like that.” She took a sip of wine. “You have somehow retained those sensory memories to those you truly love, and I believe it's because of the strong connection between the heart and powerful _Love Magic_ —something which, by the way, Harry proved time and time again that Voldemort and his followers were stubbornly heedless of. So, in short, this Love Magic appears to produce that tingly feeling of ‘rightness’ that you described.”

Draco sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Okay. But it's not _just_ the tingly feeling. Sometimes it's as if I can feel Harry's magic flowing into me, and to a lesser extent, Scorpius… and just today, Mother, and I'd not noticed it before with her.”

“Ah yes, thank you, I was getting to that. So, when two wizards love each other, their magical cores interact. Usually you can’t feel it, it’s something that happens naturally and beneath the surface of conscious thought. However in your case, I believe that Harry’s magical core can sense something _missing_ within you; those missing fifteen years of memories, those severed nerve endings. And because magic—just as with all nature—abhors a vacuum, Harry’s magic is compelled to rush in and fill that void, to compensate, to make you whole again. And you appear to be able to sense when this happens. It will likely feel stronger with Harry because his magic is far more powerful than Scorpius’s.”

Hermione paused for a moment, index finger tracing the rim of her wine glass.

“Am I right in thinking you've reconciled with your mother recently?”

Draco nodded.

“Perhaps that explains why that feeling is emerging when you touch her too,” she frowned “but I'm not an expert on this, by any means. What I _do_ know though,” she took his hand gently, “is that if you ever needed evidence that you truly loved Harry, this feeling you get when you touch him _is_ proof.”

Draco mulled this over for a few seconds and then spoke, “I think, honestly, that I already knew all of this. Well... not in _as much detail,_ but I knew it was something important, and that it _meant_ something. It always just felt _right_ , and special, and just for me. And so no, I don’t need proof, but thank you. I know I loved Harry. I think—I think maybe I’ve always known. From our first touch.”

Draco said ‘I think’ and ‘maybe’ out loud, but in his heart, he knew it was the truth. He'd _felt_ intensely for Harry since they first met. He just never recognised it for what it was.

“Another thing, Draco,” said Bill, “Hermione and I had thought that this might lead to a possible cure for the amnesia, but unfortunately every avenue I explored has been a dead end. The sensory associations with love will likely continue, however, I’m afraid—for the foreseeable future at least—there’s nothing we can do to retrieve your lost memories. I’m sorry.” Bill clasped Draco’s shoulder firmly.

“Don’t be, it’s fine. I’ve made my peace with it already.” Draco took a gulp of wine.

“Don’t forget you can talk all this through with a Mind Healer if you need to,” Hermione added.

“I know, thanks Hermione. Bill.”

“Oh, and one last thing,” said Bill, “have you thought about whether you’d like to come back to work?”

“What?” Draco was puzzled, “But how can I? I’ve forgotten all the training.”

“Well... Hermione and I were chatting and we were really impressed with the research you did and the connections you made and how quickly you picked stuff up. So, we were wondering if you’d like to come back, as my assistant, and you could learn on the job and study a bit at home too. We’re sure you’d be up to speed within a year.”

Draco was astounded. Touched by how thoughtful and kind these people were. How nobody in this cosy home thought of him as the imperious little shit he used to be, or saw him as the Slytherin Dark Lord sympathiser. He was just a friend, like anyone else. They liked him and valued him.

“Wow, Bill,” he managed, “Yes. Yes, that would be terrific. Thank you.”

“That's great Draco,” Hermione beamed, “So instead of a formal warning for trying on that ring, you're getting a demotion and re-training.” She looked at Draco and Bill’s dismayed expressions, and threw up her hands exasperatedly. “Joke! It was a joke! Merlin.”

They laughed uncomfortably for a moment and then Bill boomed, “Excellent,” and threw his arms wide. “Get over here Draco. Being a part of the group means being a part of group hugs.”

As Draco was squished together with Bill and Hermione he thought back on all the hugs and cuddles he’d given and received over the last three weeks, more than he’d had in his whole lifetime. It gave him a warm cosy feeling that he couldnt put his finger on.

“Time for pressie opening!” shouted one of the kids, and the group hug broke apart to file into the large sitting room.

Draco took a calming breath. He just hoped Harry liked what he’d bought him.

When he entered the sitting room his blood ran cold. Ginevra Weasley was _sitting on Harry's lap_ on the sofa, her face buried in his chest and he was stroking her hair, a tender smile on his face.

Draco’s skin prickled and a hot spike of jealousy pierced his chest and, as Harry turned to look at him, he fled the room, unable to breathe.


	23. Saudade

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355365327831041/25_days_20_zpses2xetym.jpg)

**Saudade**. Portuguese. n. _A somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness. A vague, constant, desire for something that does not, and probably cannot, exist. A feeling of loss and longing due to the absence of someone or something, missing a place you cannot return to, or a thing you cannot have back, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived._

_This can’t be happening. Surely not. I can’t lose him now. Not now that I’ve actually fucking fallen in love with him. I can’t—_

Draco braced his arms against the kitchen worktop and closed his eyes tightly to stop the tears. His breath came in harsh pants as he struggled to get enough oxygen.

_But it makes sense; she’s the mother of his children. He said he still loves her. I’m such an idiot. I knew I wasn’t good enough for him. Why did I let myself—_

“Draco!”

He turned at the sound of Harry's voice, still trying to catch his breath.

“Hey,” Harry said gently. “Hey, I hope you don’t think—”

“What?” he retorted hotly, and took three short shallow breaths, “That you were snuggling with Ginevra on the sofa. No, _no_. Why on earth would I think that?”

“We had a heart to heart, that’s all. She was upset and we had a cuddle.” Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm. “As _friends_. I promise.”

“It looked pretty bloody intimate from where I was standing.”

“I’m sorry. Me not thinking as usual. You know I love you, Draco. It’s only you.”

“Yeah?” Draco’s breathing began to return to normal.

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Harry. I was so terrified, I thought for a second—”

“I know, I’m sorry, come here.” He wrapped his arms around Draco, “I’ll never stop loving you.”

Draco allowed the tingling magic, Harry’s _love_ magic, to soothe him.

“So Ginevra was upset about something?” he finally ventured.

“Yeah. Well sort of. She was telling me she’s met someone. It’s early days so she’s not told the family yet, but she wanted to let me know she’s trying to move on, and that she doesn’t resent me any more. And she got a bit emotional about it. So... we had a little cuddle.”

“You’re a good man, Harry. Just don’t ever give me a fright like that again. I don’t think my ancient thirty-one-year-old heart can take it.”

“No. No I won’t,” Harry promised. “Come on, let’s go and open some gifts. I’m dying to see what you got me.”

“Don’t expect _anything_ , you git. As of now, you're firmly on the naughty list.”

They returned to the sitting room laughing, and Draco felt lighter, if a little foolish. George called them both morons and waved them to a space on one of the sofas which surrounded the large Christmas tree. It was decorated with purple, pink and silver baubles, and hundreds of flickering magical lights. “Not a Muggle cable in sight, thank Merlin,” Draco whispered to Harry, who managed to grimace and chuckle simultaneously.

The children opened their presents first while Arthur organised drinks for everyone. Draco sipped his Baileys with crushed ice and took great pleasure in Scorpius’s delighted exclamations: “Father Christmas got my letter, just like last year! Look, Papa, a Dora backpack!” Draco wondered wistfully what was on Scorpius’s list last year. He’d likely never know, he thought with a sad pang of loss.

Once Harry had got an overexcited Lily down for a nap, and the rest of the kids were in the den happily playing with their new toys and games, _Mary Poppins_ in the background on the television, it was time for the adults to exchange gifts.

Draco was startled when Molly placed a soft parcel into his hands with a “Merry Christmas Draco, m'dear.” It was an impossibly soft forest green jumper with a silver D on the front in curling French script, which made it unique from the other Weasley jumpers which had regular block letters.

He was bowled over. “It's beautiful, Mrs Weasley. Thank you so much.” Draco brought the jumper up to his cheek to feel its softness. “Is this—is this cashmere?”

“It is! Harry suggested it and Jenny Heddle sent me the wool by owl when I enquired. And please dear, call me Molly.”

“Oh yes, Jenny from Bobbin and Heddle's. How thoughtful of you. _Molly_.” He paused. “Actually, that reminds me...”

He got up and located Penny who was snuffling round the back of the Christmas tree searching for treasure. He lifted the little niffler up, squirming and snout still sniffing about in the air, and then produced a tiny parcel from his pocket. He muttered “ _Engorgio_ ,” to unshrink it.

He unwrapped the jumper for Penny, blushingly stammering, “Er, it's not terribly good...” for the benefit of Molly. He popped the jumper over Penny’s head and eased her paws through the holes. The repeating cream snowflake pattern on the tawny brown jumper suited her and offset her black fur prettily. The little niffler mewled in delight, launched herself at Draco’s face and licked his cheek enthusiastically.

“I think she loves it,” said Molly. “Wherever did you learn to knit so well?”

“My mother.”

And that was it. Molly was over to Narcissa in a flash and the two matriarchs spent the rest of the evening nursing glasses of sherry and nattering about knitting and no one dared to disturb them.

“I’m really impressed,” Harry's rumbly voice against his neck. “It looks brilliant and she'll be snug as a bug.”

“It's time for _your_ present now,” said Draco. He looked to Bill and gave him a nod. Bill went out of the room and returned moments later with a large brass birdcage containing a beautiful dark grey owl with white stippled markings, a smokey white face and piercingly intelligent yellow eyes.

“Oh wow,” was all Harry could say as he opened the door on the cage.

“She’s a Northern Hawk-owl. I hope you like her. She’ll never replace Hedwig, I know that of course, but I’m told she’s well-trained and very loyal.”

“She’s beautiful,” Harry said, ruffling the feathers on her head. She gave a soft contented hoot. “Thank you, Draco.” His eyes glistened and Draco knew he was thinking about his fallen owl.

“You’ll have to think of a name for her.”

“I already know. She’s Minerva, after one of the bravest teachers at Hogwarts.”

“That’s perfect,” said Draco. Despite being terrified of the woman, he vividly remembered how she’d stood up to Umbridge when few others did. Draco walked over and squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Right, time for yours now,” said Harry and he picked up a wrapped rectangular box from under the tree.

Draco opened the wrapping carefully to reveal a wooden box. He opened the latch and was surprised to see dozens of small stoppered phials of silvery fluid. He picked one up and read the tiny label _‘Harry - November 2010, The Ministry.’_

Draco furrowed his brow. “What are these, Harry?”

“They’re memories. Well, copies of memories. The majority are mine, but some are from Bill, Hermione, even your mother. For you to look at... when you’re ready. I have a Pensieve in the attic we can get down.”

Draco was speechless. His chest was doing something rather fluttery. He opened and shut his mouth twice.

“Is that okay?” Harry looked concerned, “I didn’t mean to presume—”

“No,” Draco found his voice, “I mean, yes, that’s okay. That’s more than okay. It’s so... kind and thoughtful of you, of everyone. I—I really don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

* * *

When they finally returned home, Draco clutching Penny and Scorpius, and Harry clutching Minerva in her cage, it was with rosy cheeks, full bellies, merry hearts, and pockets full of miniaturised gifts.

Scorpius was singing ‘ _It’s the hap-happiest seezum of all,_ ’ on a loop, and skipped around the coffee table with Penny in his arms who yip-yipped along with him. Harry joined in of course, his rich rumbly voice warming the cockles of Draco's heart, and when he belted out a baritone _‘There'll be much mistletoeing, and hearts will be glowing, when loved ones are neeear,_ ’ Draco's eyes filled rather embarrassingly with tears and he had to excuse himself to the kitchen on the pretence of fixing everyone a drink.

After a warm mug of milk with nutmeg, and a gingerbread biscuit, it was time for Scorpius to go to bed. Draco read him his new Balamory book and tucked him up with a goodnight kiss and cuddle. On his way downstairs, Draco decided he’d really like to look at a memory. Just one for now, to see how it made him feel. He was curious but unsure whether he was ready for it, mentally... emotionally.

They retrieved the heavy stone bowl from the attic and set it on the kitchen table. Harry suggested an early memory, and Draco agreed it was probably best to see them in chronological order. He selected one that read: _Harry -_ _September 2007: Doodlebugs._

He poured the whitish silver substance into the dish where it shimmered and swirled. He took a deep breath and gave Harry a last desperate glance, before plunging his face in. His stomach abruptly lurched and he was pulled forward into the Pensieve, falling, falling into a freezing black tornado for several seconds and then the world righted itself, and he was in a bright noisy room, surrounded by toddlers.

He spotted himself, or a younger version of himself, sitting on a tiny chair next to a large box of toys. He looked a little uncomfortable and his hair was a different style—longer and in a ponytail. But what made his heart stutter was the tiny blond boy sitting in his lap, clutching the lapels of his coat and whispering in his ear as he bent his head down to listen.

 _It’s Scorpius as a toddler._ His heart ached with nostalgic longing for this past that he’d lost out on. For so many little experiences he'd not had. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch. However, his pulse quickened suddenly and he gasped when memory Draco looked right at him.

No, _through_ him. Draco turned around. Harry had walked into the room.

Harry was here.

Of course, Draco reminded himself, it was Harry's memory. But this wasn't _his_ Harry. He looked stressed and... a bit sad. But Merlin, fit as fuck in crimson Auror robes. And he had a tiny Albus attached to one leg, who was peeking out at Scorpius with obvious curiosity.

“Malfoy! What are—?”

“Potter. Your son is—?”

“Yes. Albus is starting at Doodlebugs today.”

“Oh. So is Scorpius.”

“Hi Scorpius,” Harry addressed the little blond boy, “This is Albus, he’s starting today too.” Albus waved at Scorpius, who smiled shyly and then buried his face in his papa’s coat. Draco’s heart clenched.

Harry scrubbed the back of his neck. Draco could detect he was nervous. “I'm... surprised you chose this nursery school. It's a bit—”

“What?” retorted memory Draco, “A bit Muggle?”

“Er, no, I meant—” Harry paused. “Well, yeah, I suppose that _is_ what I meant. Sorry. I'm just... just surprised to see you. You... look fit, er, I mean... you look _well_.”

Draco recognised the pinkness creeping up memory Draco’s cheeks. He was flattered. Well of course he was. Harry Potter was complimenting him. The dolt was probably in complete denial that he fancied Harry.

“And it’s a pleasure to see you too, Potter. Good to see you're as eloquent as ever.”

“So... what are you up to these days?” Harry was asking, but just then memory Draco's nose wrinkled. He lifted Scorpius up off his lap by the armpits, into the air and sniffed the boy.

“Much as I hate to terminate this stimulating conversation, Potter, you'll have to excuse me. I have a nappy situation to attend to.”

Harry stared at him unbelieving, “ _You're_ going to change a nappy?”

“Yes, Potter, Scorpius is only one and half, and hasn’t _quite_ mastered the potty yet.”

“No, I mean... I’d assumed you’d have used magic for that.”

“What, you expect me to cast vanishing and cleaning charms in the midst of all these Muggles? I do have half a brain, Potter. Besides it’s pretty essential knowledge for a single father with no house-elves. You’d be surprised at all the Muggle things I know how to do now.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Draco recognised that fond expression that Harry sometimes gave him. “Yeah, I think I would.”

As memory Draco walked towards the bathroom with Scorpius wriggling in his arms and squealing “Papa, papa,” Harry called after him.

“I’ll catch you around, Malfoy!”

Memory Draco glanced back at Harry, ears pink and a slight upward quirk on one side of his mouth. “Yes,” he sighed, with what Draco recognised as a falsely resigned tone, “Yes, I expect you will.”

And suddenly Draco was whizzing back through a dark whirlwind and landing on his feet in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, Harry’s concerned face looking back up at him from where he was seated.

“Hey, how was it?” Harry stood up and took Draco’s hand.

“It was—It was good. But I don’t know, sort of bittersweet, if that makes sense. Like it’s lovely to see, but it leaves me with a yearning for the things I’ve missed. Like, a longing for something that I had, but I never _actually_ had and never will. Merlin, I don’t think that makes any sense.”

“I get it. It must be difficult for you. That was the one at Doodlebugs Nursery, right?” said Harry, and Draco nodded. “That was the first time I’d seen you since the trials, and I just couldn't believe how much you’d changed, the person you’d become. You know, I thought about you for days after that, I don’t know why, my mind just kept returning to it, turning it over.”

Draco smiled and brushed some hair out of Harry’s eyes, fingers lingering on his forehead and tracing his scar. “I can pretty much guarantee I’d have been thinking obsessively about you after that encounter too, Harry.”

“I dunno. Maybe. If you say so.”

“I say so. Thanks so much for the gift, I’m genuinely grateful.”

“I’m so happy you like it. And I hope it helps.” Harry brought his lips to Draco’s and kissed him softly and sweetly, and all the sad and grateful and happy leftover feelings from the memory spiraled around in his heart; sadness for missing out on all those years, gratefulness for the chance to experience the past, and joy that he had been given the best gift of all, this chance to find love with Harry.

When they broke apart, he saw Harry’s pupils were wide and hungry. _Perfect timing._

Draco hooked his finger into Harry’s collar playfully and threw Harry what he hoped was a bewitching look, “While we’re on the subject of gifts, I have one final surprise for you to unwrap.”


	24. Karelu

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355398857228311/25_days_21_zpsrubgmild.jpg)

**Karelu**. Tulu. n. _The mark left on the skin by wearing something tight_

Draco produced a flat box wrapped in red and gold. Harry unwrapped it carefully and lifted out what could only be described as festive underpants. The skimpy garment had a green mesh front and red lace edging which continued round to an open back, jockstrap style. At the back, there was a green silk bow attached to the skimpy elastic lace, designed to rest at the top of the wearer's bare arse, and in the centre of the bow was a tiny gold bell which chimed softly as Harry turned the garment over in his hands.

“Wow,” gulped Harry. He looked up at Draco. “You want me to wear this... tonight?

“Oh, on the contrary, darling. _I'm_ going to wear it. And _you’re_ going to fuck me in it.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

“Yes. I _mean_.” He smirked. “Did we or did we not establish that all you wanted for Christmas was to shag me?”

“I believe I said I wanted you to want me as much as I wanted you.”

“Hmm, yes, perhaps you did. Well, I do. Want you. Like that.” Draco’s smirk widened. “Well if that’s _all_ you wanted then I guess we won’t be needing these.” He took the box from Potter.

“Ah, now wait a second, I never said that. I suppose I could—”

“ _Merlin's beard_ , do I need to owl you a gold-plated invitation cordially requesting the pleasure of your dick in my arse? Good grief, Potter.”

“Oh, it's back to Potter now is it?” Harry laughed. “Alright _Malfoy_ , you’re on. _You_ are in for a proper pounding!”

Draco grinned, “That's more like it. I'll go and get changed.”

* * *

Draco took a moment to look deeply into Harry’s eyes before he removed the bathrobe. 

He let it drop and surveyed the reaction. The heavy rise and fall of Harry’s chest, his eyes turning dark, the flush on his neck, meant one thing: Harry was turned on. For a moment Draco's head swam, overwhelmed by the way in which Harry looked at him as if he were his entire universe.

“Fuck,” said Harry on an exhale, and he took two steps towards Draco, eyes never leaving his. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice deep with emotion. His fingers darted down Draco’s stomach to caress the edge of the lace, then stopped, “You _do_ want this?”

Draco trembled at Harry’s feather light touch and he saw a glint in Harry’s eyes. Being wanted like that did _things_ to Draco’s stomach and made his heart hammer in his chest. Harry licked his lips and his eyes searched Draco’s, looking for doubt. He wouldn’t find any. Draco wanted Harry in ways he’d never wanted anyone before and it made him nervous but not uncertain.

“Yeah,” Draco rasped, voice hoarse with the arousal pooling in him, “I’m a little nervous but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it, don’t want you. And I trust you. Completely,” Draco said, trying to reassure that hesitant part of Harry that he was ready. “Harry. I really _really_ want you to fuck me.”

A shiver wracked through Harry’s body and he gripped Draco's hip. “That was the hottest thing I think I’ve ever heard." Harry’s voice came out gravelly and breathless, "And I don't know why, because I've done this with you many times. It's just—things are different now.”

Harry kissed Draco sensuously, taking his time to work his tongue into his mouth. He slid his hands up Draco’s bare stomach and took Draco’s nipple between his finger, squeezing gently. Draco whimpered and bit Harry’s lower lip.

Harry pulled away, “Was that too—?”

“No, that felt good.”

“Ah,” Harry leaned down and licked the erect bud of his nipple and Draco hummed in pleasure. He kissed and licked Draco’s chest and nipples, and Draco’s cock swelled, straining against the mesh of the undergarment. Harry noticed, and Draco felt a firm pressure against his length, the mesh too thin to provide much of a barrier, heat seeping in and Harry’s hand exuding a fiery magic that made him fully hard within seconds.

Harry led them to the bed.

“You look incredible wearing that, Draco,” he breathed as he pushed him onto the mattress. “Utterly fuckable. Lie there and let me look at you.”

Draco lay back on his elbows, chest rising and falling, watching Harry undress. He barely suppressed a moan when Harry slipped his pants down and his hard, heavy cock sprang free. A craving was unfurling deep in his gut, a bone-deep pull at the sight of Harry’s erection. Draco wasn’t scared. He wanted to feel it inside him.

“Turn over,” said Harry breathily, “I want to see the back.”

Draco rolled onto his stomach and the little bell on the bow above his buttocks tinkled gently. His erection dragged against the sheets and he rolled his hips slightly to bring it some relief.

“Merlin,” Harry said, voice warm and soft like caramel, “You are so fucking sexy.”

Draco felt Harry’s palms on his bare arse cheeks, caressing them softly, worshipping them, slipping fingers under the lace straps. Draco stretched his arm out for his wand and cast the preparation spells that he’d heard Harry use before.

“I’m gonna start with my tongue, babe, if that’s okay? I want to taste you, want to breathe in your scent. I know just how fucking good you taste and it’s been too long,” Harry said.

Draco sucked in a sharp breath. He’d fantasised about Harry saying those words and his arsehole clenched and relaxed eagerly. Again he undulated his aching cock against the cotton sheets.

“Fuck, yes,” Draco groaned.

He moved to get up on his hands and knees, cock straining heavily against the mesh fabric, and bent as prettily as he could, back arching down low, presenting himself, gifting himself, silk bow and all. Harry moaned low in appreciation.

“If it's too much, tell me and I'll stop, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Draco looked back over his shoulder at Harry’s gorgeous face, “I trust you, Harry.”

Warm hands clasped either side of his arse, spreading him wide and he shuddered as he felt cool air on his entrance. He heard Harry inhaling and exhaling heavily. Draco waited, stomach roiling in anticipation. He held his breath... until... warm, velvety wetness, as Harry licked a fat stripe from balls to tailbone _._ Draco threw his head back and moaned from the sensation of being bare and exposed and wet.

Harry licked and lapped hungrily, squeezing Draco’s cheeks, drenching him, running his tongue right around the rim, this way and that, then sucking the puckered flesh into his mouth. Draco could feel waves of magical arousal coming off Harry, from his tongue and lips alone. He took a deep breath to steady himself and tried to relax his arse muscles. He was rewarded with the incredible feeling of Harry’s tongue delving right into his opening, reaching inside and caressing him from the inside. The feeling was like nothing he’d ever imagined, and he cried out in pleasure.

He rocked back against Harry, gently panting, bell tinkling softy. _Harry’s tongue-fucking me,_ his brain chanted over and over. It was sweet juicy torture and he’d never felt so wanton _._ His cock twitched and precome dripped through the mesh and onto the sheets.

“Fuck,” Draco exhaled a long shaky breath, as Harry withdrew his tongue and slid a slick finger inside. Harry pressed in deeply, tongue licking around the puckered flesh that clung to his finger. Draco gasped and tensed around the unfamiliar presence. It wasn’t unpleasant or painful, just a strange and tight pressure. He swivelled his hips experimentally and felt a sharp sensation all the way down to the tips of his toes, and the bone-deep pull flared again, a need to be filled that he’d never been aware of before.

“That okay?” asked Harry, moving his finger gently inside Draco.

“Y-yeah,” Draco squirmed, “Yeah, you can keep going.”

Harry worked his finger in and out for a while longer and Draco relaxed into the sensation.

“I’m going to add another now, babe,” said Harry. Draco sucked in a tight breath and spread his thighs further apart instinctively. “Good,” said Harry, “You’re doing amazing. You look so beautiful like this.” Draco’s chest heated up at the praise.

Harry carefully added another finger alongside the first and Draco felt a dizzying tightness. The little bell jingled abruptly as his hips jerked of their own volition. He sucked in a lungful of air and tried to relax as Harry spread his fingers, working him open. Tentatively he began to move his hips, fucking himself ever so delicately on Harry’s fingers. He was beginning to feel a genuine pleasure building. He _liked_ it.

When Harry curled his fingers inside him brushing against the sensitive bundle of nerves, Draco choked a cut-off cry as his back bowed and knees jerked, and a split second later he pushed back against Harry, anxious to reconnect with the intense spark that had just flared inside of him.

As he rocked back and forth, pleasure surged through him, bright bolts of feeling that made his cock twitch needily and his fingers clutch at the sheets, seeking something to anchor him. "More, Harry, you can—"

Harry added a third slick finger and Draco’s chest tripped over a tight, short breath. The stretch was full and overwhelming, and there was a small part of him that felt the pain. But a much larger part that felt the intimacy, the connection, the flow of magic. Draco basked in just that feeling. He was sharing himself with someone he loved, someone he wanted to be with. But... it was a lot. He felt overfull, snared by the stretch into staying motionless, forced to wait it out. He realised his erection had flagged and he slipped his hand beneath the mesh fabric to stroke himself a few times.

It was a lot, but at the same time it wasn’t enough.

“You okay, hon?” Harry asked, leaning forward and trailing kisses along his spine.

Draco felt that wanting again, that aching emptiness that demanded to be filled. The bell above his arse chimed delicately as he rolled his hips around Harry’s fingers and felt himself beginning to get hard again.

“Want you inside me.” Draco said.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Fuck me Harry. I want you to fill me up with come.”

“I will,” Harry croaked, “Fuck, Draco, I will, and I’ll make sure it’s good for you. Just relax while I conjure more lube.” He pulled his fingers out slowly, _exquisitely_ , and Draco felt the loss acutely. Merlin, he needed this.

Draco lowered himself onto his elbows, arse still jutting up in the air and settled his face against the pillows, a bright flush staining his cheeks.

He felt the tip of Harry’s engorged cock pressing against his hole, and he grit his teeth, his frantic mind a-flurry in one last delirious moment.

“I’m gonna go really slow, Draco. Just try to relax. You can do this. You’re doing so well, and you look so fucking gorgeous.”

Harry ran the slick head of his cock around Draco’s rim, coating it in lube, and then the blunt head was pressing inwards, stretching him wide. He squirmed, wanting to push against Harry to take him deeper but nervously pulling away a little at the same time, scared of the intense surges of sensation he felt.

Harry stilled, hands on Draco’s hips, breathing heavily. “That okay, hon?”

Draco’s heart was hammering, face flushed and eyes bright. “Yeah, you feel so big... but I want it. Keep going.” He trusted Harry. He loved Harry.

Harry pushed in a little further and Draco hissed at the stretch. It felt different from Harry’s fingers—warmer, smoother, heavier. He slipped a hand under the lace and mesh and curled his fingers around his neglected cock. He began to stroke slowly to relieve some of the pressure, and his muscles slackened enough to let Harry deeper inside. He felt shivery and hot and blissful, and as the sting faded, Draco just wanted more.

Harry kept thrusting in tiny increments, and Draco gripped the bedsheets. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed rhythmically as he felt the blunt progress of Harry’s cock splitting him open, until finally, finally, he was fully seated. _He’s in me... so deep... so far... so full._

Harry let out a slow, drawn out groan, “Feels so tight, so good... fuck, you _always_ feel so good.” He massaged Draco’s back in slow circles, the same way he did to calm him from a nightmare, and Draco let the magic in Harry’s hands soften and ease his tension.

Draco felt a searing warmth against his back, and a pleasant tugging in his arse, as Harry leant forward to pepper his neck and shoulders with tender kisses and murmured praise.

“You can move.” Draco whispered. “It doesn’t hurt. Just... go slow.”

"I will... very slow," Harry answered, rising up and sliding his hands down Draco’s back and arse.

Harry pulled back and began to move inside Draco, slowly, patiently sliding in and out. _Harry’s fucking me, Harry’s fucking me_ , his brain looped in disbelief. This was being filled, being _completed;_ each long leisurely thrust of Harry’s cock inside him finally soothing that aching pull within.

He dropped his head down and gave in to the sensations, let Harry take over, fucking him slow, fucking him _so_ slow, but gradually, gradually increasing the pace, gripping his hips a little harder, nails digging in slightly. Draco panted little puffs of air with every sensual honey-sweet thrust and gentle chime of the bell.

Soon, an urgent need overcame Draco. He didn’t want Harry to hold back, he knew he wasn’t going to hurt Draco. He needed more. “Harder,” he begged.

“Fuck, Draco, fuck,” was all Harry could manage as he obeyed, slamming into Draco’s body with a forceful roll of his hips.

“Harry!” Draco gasped, and Harry did it again, and again, and on the third time he hit Draco’s sensitive spot and Draco arched his back and whined, thighs spasming and bell jingling in alarm.

Harry set a pace of deep, hard thrusts, cock pounding into Draco in exactly the right way, making him cry out every single time Harry’s hips slapped against his arse. He was unable touch himself in this position, limbs too jelly-like to possibly support his weight with one arm.

Instead he focused on the feelings, the drag and slide of Harry’s cock against his sensitive insides, the catch of it against the rim of his hole when he withdrew a little too much, the sure feeling of Harry’s hips firm against his arse when he pushed in to the hilt, the blistering heat of Harry’s magic tearing through his body, seeking out every last cell within him, filling them with intense pleasure. And in the background Harry’s voice, hoarse, wrung dry from moaning, praising him, comforting him. This was everything Draco could have wanted and more.

Searing heat quickened inside him and he bucked his hips back to meet Harry’s rough thrusts, skin slapping, bell pealing insistently, and Harry was babbling, “Draco, Draco, I’m close, so close.”

Draco squeezed around the hard length inside him as he rolled his arse rhythmically against Harry. Harry’s climax was sudden: a clutch of Draco’s hips, a stiffening of the body, a gasp. As his hot release filled Draco’s arse, Harry continued to fuck into him with abandon until he was shuddering and slowing and gasping for breath.

It was shocking, and hot, in a primal way, knowing he was full of Harry’s come now. Harry had fucked him and filled him just like he’d fantasised about, just liked he'd asked him to. He was so turned on he was dizzy.

Harry softened and slipped out of Draco. “Wow. Draco, I—Fuck, that was intense.”

Draco remained on all fours, panting heavily, feeling Harry’s semen dribbling down his inner thigh, feeling empty. His cock ached with need.

“You didn’t come.” Harry rolled onto his back next to Draco, breathing hard.

“Not yet, but I got really close.”

Draco finally collapsed onto his stomach. He turned over to face Harry. “That felt _so fucking good_.”

Harry was staring at Draco’s crotch hungrily and Draco looked down. His erection was stubbornly jutting out pulling the mesh and lace taut, head protruding slightly, untended and swollen. Harry growled something unintelligible and the pants disappeared completely, the only trace of them the lines on his skin left by the elastic.

“Oi, they were expensive!” Draco stuck his bottom lip out.

“We're rich. I’ll buy another pair,” Harry dismissed. “Right now I have something much more pressing attend to.”

Harry leaned in and kissed him, long slides of tongue sending waves of pleasure straight to Draco’s groin, and then he pulled away, and slid his body down to settle his face between Draco’s hips.

Harry dragged his tongue slowly along the marks left by the lacy elastic and Draco’s cock jerked against his stomach, where precome was already pooling. Then he raised Draco’s legs up high and kissed and licked along the elastic marks on the underside of his buttocks. The gesture felt so gentle and intimate and caring and at that moment Draco knew: he was loved. _So_ loved.

He trembled from the softness of Harry’s kisses against his skin and when Harry’s thick fingers breached his raw opening, still dripping with Harry’s come, he keened in startled pleasure.

“Gonna make you come so hard, babe,” he heard Harry grunt.

Draco leaned up on his elbows to see Harry and was met with dark green eyes gazing lasciviously back at him. Not breaking the eye contact, Harry wrapped a broad palm around Draco’s weeping cock and began to pump slowly, strokes matching the thrusts of his three fingers into Draco’s hole. Draco mewled uncontrollably at the sight... at the feeling.

“Oh gods, Harry,” he gasped. He was already so close, his whole body on fire and the friction, Salazar, the _friction_ was so fucking good. When Harry began to massage his prostate Draco made a carnal noise at the back of his throat and his eyes rolled back.

Draco's sweaty hair drooped in his face and he moaned low and loud at the building pleasure, his thighs shaking uncontrollably as Harry wanked him and finger fucked him relentlessly, filling his magical core with fiery heat and burning passion and blazing love.

His stomach tightened and he splayed his legs wide as the magical heat consumed him, breaking him down and tearing him apart, untying all his knots and setting him free. A magical warmth after a lifetime of winter. He tried to form words to tell Harry how fucking amazing he was and how much he loved him but all could manage was a breathy whine.

He brought his awareness back to the physical realm, and his heightened senses. Harry’s fingers inside him, rubbing and caressing that magical spot, wrapped around his length, pulling and twisting, making sparks shoot through him helplessly. Tension coiled in Draco’s muscles, and a heat was growing deep in his belly.

Harry was crooning something as he brought Draco closer and closer to the brink. Draco desperately strained to hear it.

“...I love you, Draco... I love you so much... so fucking much...” and those words, whispering all the love in the world, between needy little pants, were all it took to tip Draco over the edge, and he was coming in strong spurts across his stomach, trembling from head to toe from the force of it.

He let his head fall back onto the mattress. Everything was fuzzy. His body tingled all over from the aftershocks and he let the magic run through him, too limp with pleasure to even move.

He became aware of Harry’s hands massaging his still quivering hips, and felt the tingle of a cleaning spell. He looked at his boyfriend, hair dishevelled, eyes deep pools of chartreuse, lips parted, and he pulled him close. Right there and then, Draco was at a loss for everything; no words, no breath, no thoughts. The only thing that came out of his mouth at that moment was “Harry,” and even then it was shaky and quiet.

So they just rested, breaths mingling in the quiet air as they came down.

After some time, he brushed Harry’s hair from his forehead, kissed his lightning scar and whispered, “I love you,” and “Happy Christmas.”

Harry pulled him into a slow lazy kiss that lasted for minutes, and then murmured, “Happy Christmas, Draco,” eyes shining and bright. Arms and legs entwined, they gazed at each other reverently for minutes more, limbs and minds and eyes growing heavier. When Harry’s eyes drooped closed, Draco looked at him for a little while longer... still trying to convince himself Harry was real, this life was real. He sighed happily, closed his eyes and fell into the perfect sleep of bliss.

  
  



	25. Naz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas everyone!! It's the final chapter!!  
> Hope you like.

Prompt pic: [](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/515140983789453332/517355440577839132/done_12_zps1w7wklgf.jpg)

**Naz**. Urdu. n. _The pride and assurance that comes from knowing you are loved unconditionally._

**Christmas Day - One year later**

I look up from the book I'm reading as Harry bursts into the sitting room. His tousled black hair is damp with snow. His cheeks have a faint red flush. His emerald green eyes are full of mirth. They meet mine. He's striking and my breath is whisked away just like that.

“Got the last ones in the shop. They were just closing,” he laughs with obvious relief, setting the box of assorted macarons on the table.

Thank fuck. Macarons are my kryptonite, I don't mind telling you. Sweet chewy almondy discs of pastel joy that make me weak as a kitten. And yes, yes, I know what kryptonite is, thank you. I've caught up on some pop culture references now, although I will admit _that_ one is so old I should have already known it. That's what comes of a sheltered pureblood upbringing.

Harry usually bakes me macarons if I request them—he _is_ good like that—but it’s late on Christmas Day, he’s had a fair bit to drink, and there just happens to be mini-Waitrose, four blocks away, that stays open until eight o'clock 364 days a year. Their macaroons are not as good as Harry's but they'll do in a pinch.

“Excellent,” I say, rising to pull Harry's gloves off. I kiss his cold fingers, one by one, and he stares at me fondly while I do so. He's besotted with me, I've come to accept that.

The memories helped in that regard.

“I’ll make the tea,” I say, because I'm also good like that. Hush, I am. “You get yourself settled and warm by the fire.”

As I get the teapot and mugs out I'm still thinking about Harry's memories. I've seen them all now and, Salazar's grace, it's been quite the rollercoaster. Yes, I do know what a rollercoaster is, thank you, we visited Alton Towers for James' birthday and rode on far too many of those Muggle death traps. I feel ill just thinking about it.

I can scarcely believe I’ve seen _all_ the memories now, there seemed so many tiny phials in the box when I’d first opened it twelve months ago.

I cried at most of the memories donated by Mother, particularly the ones including Father. He really did say and do some disgusting things. I dare say we’ll never reconcile. But Mother says she’s okay with that.

And I laughed at most of the ones from Bill; there was a particularly farcical memory of us being chased through the streets of Cairo by a wizened old man trying to sell us essential oils. He was more tenacious than Harry, _that_ old bastard, and that's saying something!

Bill’s a really good friend, I’ve come to realise. Who'd have thought a Malfoy and a Weasley would get on so well? Well, I suppose you can ask Mother the same thing. She’s round at the Burrow every other week visiting Molly.

And Merlin’s balls, I went through the entire bloody gamut of feelings viewing Harry’s memories: from exasperation at my slow teasing nonchalance towards Harry in the beginning, to admiration of Harry’s persistence in the face of it; from disbelief at my apparent parenting capabilities, to amazement at Scorpius’s many milestones; and from embarrassment at my dancing and goofiness, to arousal at some of the more intimate memories.

Honestly, it's been both illuminating and heart-rending and I deeply treasure every memory my loved ones have shared. I was touched to see there was even one from Teddy of me attempting to skateboard—although the less said about that the better. Well you saw me ice-skating, didn't you?

I was glad in the end that Harry insisted I see the Mind Healer. Despite my initial misgivings, it _did_ help me process all my confusing emotions—not least having sixteen candles on my birthday cake last year, then double the amount this year, I challenge anyone to get their head around _that_.

I’ve learned that accepting help is not a weakness, and it makes me a better father for Scorpius and partner for Harry. And, with an ego as big as mine was—as Harry loves to remind me—that’s quite the achievement. But truthfully,—and this might surprise you—although the Mind Healer has helped me unpack and process my feelings about the lost years, it's Harry that has actually healed my mind, with nothing fancier than a smile, a warm hug and the occasional slice of Madeira cake.

I return to the sitting room with the teas and sit down next to Harry, our shoulders touching and our feet up on the table. I can feel the fire’s hot breath on my stockinged feet and I wiggle my toes in pleasure.

“Scorpius get off to bed okay?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, he was out like a Nox.”

Harry clinks his mug to mine, “Happy Christmas babe. Cheers to another year of keeping our kids alive.”

He’s right. It is an achievement. We work to raise a family, we love our children unconditionally and they love us, we return from long days—Harry from The Dark Tarts, where he works now, and myself from The Ministry—and we collapse into each other every evening with weary eyes and empty limbs.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret the work. As a matter of fact, the year spent learning curse-breaking techniques and procedures on the job, and reading all I could in my spare time has been fascinating and fulfilling and I can genuinely say I’ve loved every minute of it. Bill says I’ll be promoted to full Curse-breaker within a month.

I'm a lucky lucky man, I'm well aware. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I'll never consider putting on that cursed LeStrange ring to be one of them.

Harry wraps his arms around me, as if _I’m_ his Christmas gift and he wants nothing more in the world than to be close to me.

“I love you, Harry,” I say, because I’ve had a lot of wine and am an utter sap. Then I proceed to cement my sap status by linking my fingers with his and saying, “I’m as much in love with you today as I was this time last year, probably even more so.”

Harry grins stupidly, leans forward, and grabs a chocolate macaron, “Understandable. I _am_ very lovable.” I whack his leg and he clutches it, feigning agony.

I reach for a pistachio macaron—my favourite—and sigh thoughtfully. “It’s funny, I used to dream about ending your life, now I dream about spending it by your side.”

“Really? You dreamt of killing me? That’s a bit—” Harry began.

“Oh yes,” I take a sip of tea, “I had all sorts of ideas for your demise. But not now. Now, I find your death would be _most_ … inconvenient.”

Harry laughs, “I love you too, Draco.”

We chew our macarons in comfortable silence. Harry twists the top of his off and dunks it in his tea before stuffing the whole half in his mouth. He munches happily, eyes closed.

“You eat macarons like a monster. Honestly, I don’t think I can love you anymore.”

Harry cracks an eye open. “At least I know how to sneeze into my elbow like a civilised being.” He says this with crumbs dropping from his mouth, the peasant.

“That was _one time_ , and I had Penny in my arms. Merlin, you’ll never let me forget it.”

“No, I won’t, because you sneezed all over the kitchen worktop and icing sugar went everywhere.”

Good Godric, how can he still be sore about that? “Oh piss off,” I pout petulantly, “And you can forget about sex tonight, don’t even _try_.” But he knows I don’t mean it. I never mean it. Well would you, if you had a man as fine as him?

“Pity,” he says with a shrug, “You're kind of hot when you're cross.” And then he’s off, singing one of his tuneless ditties as he shuffles to the kitchen with the empty mugs to pour us a second cuppa, _“You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel, Mr. Gri-inch… You're a bad banana with a… greasy black peel._ ”

“I sincerely hope that’s not directed at me,” I call, but I know it is, and I can’t help smiling.

I have been in love with Harry for a year now and yet when I think about him I still get the same feeling of butterflies in my stomach that I got when I first realised I truly loved him. His kiss gives me the same rush of tingling love magic that makes my knees weak and my heart race. Each day with him is another day I fall more for his bright smile, his deep laugh, his easy personality and yes, you’ve guessed it, his damnable swaying arse.

Harry’s my best friend. His love is pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Simple. And I want to cherish it forever.

My stomach swirls as I run my thumb over the ring box in my pocket, my final Christmas gift for him. I call through to the kitchen, “Harry, hurry up with the tea and get in here, you prat. I have a question for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story. It's by far the longest thing I've ever written and was a real challenge to get done in time. Thanks to all of you who read along and kept up with me on the journey.  
> Heartfelt thanks to my wonderful alpha, beta, gamma, delta, ALL the way to omega: [timothysboxers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timothysboxers/), who went to extreme personal lengths to ensure this thing got posted on time, provided solid advice and squee, and is a genuine talent, despite his protests to the contrary.  
> And special thanks to my squee buddies [erin_riwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erin_riwen/), [lettersbyelise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersbyelise/) and [LLAP115](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLAP115/), for all your encouragement. And of course [sassy_cissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/), for hosting. Love you all. ♡♡


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